Remember Me
Ten decades ago
the World went
to war
in the War
to end all wars
but the problem is
it didn’t.
16 million lives
lay poppy-strewn
on fields drenched in blood.
Futures stolen.
Dreams lost.
Lives seeping
into soil
at Ypres,
the Somme,
Verdun,
Cambrai,
Marne.
A quarter
of a million
boys went
to war,
‘For King
and Country.’
They went
to change
the world.
Those who returned
came back
hollow eyed.
Their hope
eaten by
the teeth
of the trenches.
Such a
bloody
waste
of life.
That Great War
was not
a great war.
It was a Great Slaughter.
Aren’t all wars?
Isn’t slaughter
a better word
even if it is more
offensive.?
So I stand
holding a poppy.
Small,
red
poppy.
Beautiful
in it’s simplicity.
Blood red….
Birthed in fields
where once young men
became old before
their time.
Its leaf
pointed to 11
to remind me
of the moment that it stopped.
I want to meet the parents
who lost their children
and tell them
I admire them.
I want them to know
they had more courage,
more valour,
more everything than me.
What would I have done?
Saluted my boy as he walked away?
Stood proud and tall?
Or would I have
Gripped his sleeve?
Begged him not to go?
Pleaded with him to stay?
That war
made heroes
of mothers
who lost their boys,
fathers
who lost their friends.
It did not
matter whether
you were
French
or German
or British
or Australian
or Italian.
Humanity trumps nationality,
at least it should.
The enemy lines reached into
homes from Derry to Dusseldorf
From Sydney to the Seine.
The world was shrouded in black
What then
of the hope
of Christ
that swords
would be ploughshares,
that chains
would be broken,
that peace
would reign?
That hope lay buried
in the dark soil of men’s hatred.
But look further back.
Not ten decades
but ten times ten
and ten times nine
and see the answer
to this bloodletting there.
Another young man’s blood
seeped into the soil.
It soaked the ground,
saturated the earth,
changed the world.
Innocent.
Beautiful.
Perfect.
Son.
Loved by His Father.
Cherished by His mother.
Betrayed by his His friends.
Butchered by his own.
Bearing a weight
not His to bear,
He sank His love
into the soil
and cried
for forgiveness.
He carried the very hatred
that we have held onto.
He emptied the gun.
He defused the bomb.
He took the bullet
for us,
for the world.
The darkness
was absorbed
by Him
but we
have loved
the dark
more
than the Light,
so we
continue
to the plunge
the world
into darkness.
We do it with our words.
We do it as nations.
We do it as people.
But God has borne this pain. He has carried this weight.
He has cracked the seal on our hatred.
It is us that will not let go.
So tonight
if you remember
the sons
and daughters
that died
remember this Son.
This beautiful perfect Son.
This One who bore it all
and offers His life
to you and
to me.
Let your tears
be offered
at the foot
of His cross
because His suffering,
His death,
His pain is deeper
than anything
we have seen
or known.
And in it
we find hope.
His pit was
deeper
than Ypres,
deeper
than the Somme,
deeper
than Verdun,
deeper
than Cambrai
deeper than the
trenches at Marne.
His love
is the only love
that can break
this curse of hatred.
His cross
stands
still.
Offering life.
Offering hope.
Offering peace
to all.
‘Remember me.’
‘Remember me’
‘Remember me’
© Malcolm Duncan November 9th 2014