Brothers - Poem by Dylan Charles
Tender tears whisper secretly,
“My brother, I am sorry.”
The eagle cross and the lion red lie still in the sunlit sky,
Hands clamped shut, a peace that will last the day,
Only a day,
Black bread, biscuits and ham,
Wine, cognac and cigarettes,
“My brothers, we are sorry.”
The sound of trumpets, the dogs of war,
Left have they for another day,
For only a day.
Of laughter, of singing,
Of jokes and larks,
“Brother, I am sorry.”
Too soon, too young,
We sing one last song
A carol for our miseries, a carol for our dead,
Oh my brother, my brother,
Forgive me for my sins.
Poet's Notes about The Poem
What strikes me as the most futile and tragic part is that, the war needn't have begun at all, men died over an offense they never gave, over a war that didn't matter.
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