All Fall Down

Laughter has no place in times of war.

Children tumble in rolls of hay,
the tinge of barley around.
Among knolls and golden fields,
laughter is the only sound.
What is war but games for men?
to them not even worth a frown.
Backs all turned to cracks of guns,
they sing ashes, ashes, all fall down.

Men they sprawl in dirt and mud,
the stench of death embrace them all.
The child's innocence is lost,
cast away for the nation's call.
Freedom is a gunshot's gift,
instinct is an old friend's crown.
See the children rise again,
yelling ashes, ashes, all fall down.

Laughter is a relic lost,
buried with his friends of old.
The barley scorched and trampled dead,
the air it is a graveyard cold.
At death's door a man yet stands,
crying at this lifeless mound.
He only yearns for simpler times,
whispering ashes, ashes, all fall down.

A man ignored on Baker street,
remembers back and wipes a tear.
He shares his life with passing folk,
for those with coin and time to spare.
But none will hear the hero's fall,
nor see an old man's ragged gown.
Secretly he longs for death.
Ashes, ashes, all fall down.

Reviews

[Cathy Wattam]

This is great. Fantastic imagery, the poem has a lyrical flow. Amazing yet sad at the same time that war can evoke such a huge amount of written works. One man's war is another man's peace. Really enjoyed reading this!