The Poppy

Why has a symbol of peace become such a war cry?
The world is at war again,
And probably not for the last time.
Hatred and scorn have become a pastime,
To the ignorantly inclined.

One hundred years since the guns fell silent;
Since that final bugle call;
Since the lone piper's late lament,
That lowered heads in silent recall.
Since the war to end all wars,
Failed it's duty to the fallen!

Irish Guards and Volunteers,
Fought side by side at Passchendaele,
Against a common enemy;
Who shared the same God in the fields,
Of blood and sacrifice;
In answer to their calling.

Soldiers under every flag,
From the world's nations, far and wide,
Fought in the name of their Gods...
And they fought on both sides!
They fought for their freedom...
For their own personal belief!

They fought with their hearts wrapped in pride,
Stoked by the propaganda,
Of those who's ambitions indulged,
In cruel, political agenda;
Those who hid behind the paperwork,
Notifications of grief!

And in all the wars that followed,
The same agendas called to arms,
Those loyal to their sovereigns,
To their Gods, trinkets, and charms...
And still they fell in sacrifice,
In the fields of bloody battle.

And even today the Gods of War!
Call their demand upon their subjects,
To take up arms and fight the fight,
Of their power-hungry projects...
And those who lack of free mind,
March to the abattoir like cattle!

And the poppy that survived the carnage,
With its innocence intact,
Has now become the subject of ridicule and attack,
From those who's political motivation,
Lacks tolerant concern.

I wear my poppy with pride,
As I walk among the gravestones,
My head bowed in remembrance,
As I reflect an ancestry long gone.
But gone should never mean forgotten...
Lest we never learn!

Published: 10/20/2018
Bouquets and Brickbats