You're as old as...

A Poem by Rhys Jones

For my grandfather, who was born on the 7th February 1943

I’m as old as the war.

I am as old as the tanks that stormed the battle of Kurst;

I am the age of the rusted metal and bullets under the earth’s skin.

I am as old as the snows.

That froze Russia that year, froze his bones.

I am as old as the echoes of gunshots and sirens and Bomber Command.

I lived through Dresden. I lived through the Blitz.

I am only the same age as the men buried beneath the shelling,

Just bones, skulls, now, when once we were mirrors of youth.

I am the same age as the radio announcements.

I am the age of the yellowed telegraph report.

I am the age of the fine black letters printed on an immaculate textbook.

I am the age of the red poppies flowering and the blurred lines of morality.

I am as old as the war.

And look at me, look at me.

I’m really not old at all.

© 2016 Rhys Jones

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alifeacoustic

A beautiful memory of all so many have been through and what to come to pass in their time, yet inside their minds, there are no mirrors to show the grey, the lines and wrinkles that we see and judge upon.
Some wonderful lines...I am the age of the red poppies flowering and the blurred lines of morality...superb.
Really great poem, with a softly spoken flow to it.