A worthless man am i.
spoilt & rich, unloved & free.
Here I sit by choice in the darkness of my time.
& Here I write my thoughts to you, freely are they mine.
But my mind is scared; I fear death.
I fear the power that others bind.
& So I cry for fallen man. He who stood for dreams more eloquent than mine.
He who now lies far below, victim of another’s crime.
I read his epitaph & tears did form.
This shifting battle consumes
He died for what? What purpose served?
Since tomb was formed what lessons learned?
Power scares – Should one man hold another?
Or man be free eternal dust?
Was death such an important fate for he?
For twisted ideas held passionately?
The action of the war excites and takes my breath away
I love the charge, the kudos, the brave & gallantry.
But death it frightens, mocks and hates
What medal earned gives thanks for fate?
I cannot claim that death attracts such honour as it does
For I fear that man who died that day was regrettably conscribed
And that each in our pathetic way
Has little power over the things we say.
So I sit and cry, I murmur sorrow.
For he who died without grace nor love.
I pity tombstone read and the lives cut short
& the world in which they fought.
I wish, I wish, that love and peace,
Were all that man would chase
& that each own hand earned destiny
Of life and love ; simplicity.
~ On the sadness of war & the tombs that I’ve seen.
© Ed Simkins