The Red Poppy

The Red Poppy

the red poppy reminds us to remember

pinned to a layer of clothing atop our chest

alerting others that we are paying homage to our fallen heroes 

strangers who died far away on many an angry day

we don't know why, nor do we care

the perfect storm washed away all the reasons, the blood and guts

bullets and carnage were all that remained

accompanied by an upturned and ruptured earth

today we learn of their valour and victory 

recanted by the strain of a quivering bagpipe

a bugler who is void of wind

a snare drum whose skin is empty of heartbeats

far away red poppies adorn crucifixes placed row on row

pure white stones marked by a flower in red

wind and rain have carved away the names

but an imposing cenotaph maintains an endless watch

what remains buried below the earth is unknown

a missing head, belly, arm, leg, for what does it matter

their graves are of the same depth and width

maggots favour a snack when dinner is not served

medals adorn those who are still among the living

yet their minds are filled with an inexplicable sorrow

their bodies weathered by time and ravaged by fear

but the red poppy they continue to hold dear

Thank you,
Joseph Pede