Armistice Day Poem by Martin Ward

Armistice Day
(Definition of armistice: a temporary halt to hostilities,
until an agreement is reached that war will end)

Armistice Day: a flower grafted to a thorn.
An annual that blooms and fades,
until a perennial is planted.

It has no legs; it shed its arms:
blown to bits in some far-off foreign field.

At home, the curtains are drawn
and lights go out once more.

Do not insult their memory
by parading politicians who sent them there,
or figureheads with chests laden with medals,
unearned by sitting behind desks;
piously pressing flesh.

Salute the regimental stones,
to which no lichen can attach.
Place a pebble upon each grave,
and plant a tree to blossom and grow:
watered by a nation's tears.
The years shall not efface their memory.

Yet still we settle for Armistice Day:
we are blinded by the promise that it brings;
our tongues are cut and ear drums blasted.

Until the next time. Until another mother's son,
or father's daughter bleeds into the mire or desert dust.

Peace, illusive love: I hold you in my arms;
I will not let you go, but go you must.
A dove set fair for flight, so cruelly shot at dawn.

Armistice Day: we call it that,
but it is nothing more than a fleeting moment,
a 'Will-o'-the-wisp' that promises much.
It sits in sidings and smokes cigars
in railway carriages: a temporary stop.

Call it what you may, but let it be:
End Of War For All Time Day.