"The Magical Poppy Field."
On a day of sun kissed shadows
eyes darkened
shrugging memories
almost a craving to obliterate
to stay away!!!
His heart once
shattered
into
a thousand pieces.
How he felt the coldness
seeped unfeelingly
slicing through his heart
his soul right through
into his being
his spirit.
On top of the chalk white hills
he felt
a stabbing corrosive pain;
so intense
so dark
slightly muffled in a dense fog.
To peer into the darkness
oblivious to the sounds
of cries of pain;
the pains dripping,
overflowing
with the ugliness
and
consuming
grief
of war;
a nightmare
forever to recur.
Dead bodies left
raw to the the rage
of the wind ruffled waters.
To make out the silhouette
of a tumbledown barn.
From his viewpoint way up high above the shingle of Havens Bay
his mind once again filled with a stagnating stench
clinging
in morbid corrosion.
The sounds of the bombs of yesteryear
filling his being as if this were the present day.
Wrecked buildings
a damp
stench
sick and vile
leaving his form in a sinister and bilious
charade.
The sirens
ripping through like a cold dagger
gleaming with a hardened evil.
Wickedness
rising like a bile of hate
heavy boots of the enemy trampling
those relics;
of bodies;
of homes;
of schools;
of estates
built through man's
honest sweat and hard toil;
the hard work
of generations so proud
now crumpled into pathetic heaps..
Each brick once claimed so proudly.
Furtive glances
laying foundations
for an icy shuddering
through this moment in time.
His
apprehensive heartbeats
as loud
as foreboding
as the Devil's drum.
Feeling a chilling
reverberation
he almost recoiled ;
curling away
in disgust
of the knotted feelings
of a
complex harsh spider's web;
seemingly fragile
but deliberately sprinkled
him with evil strokes;
with
the peppered
burning sensation
of heart-breaking scenes.
Those enemy boats which
once advanced the shores;
slicing through our boys
our men
in gruesome ugliness.
Cries of terror
from boys so young
of fathers
of brothers
of kin.
Leaving families to grieve
forever to feel
such intense pain.
The reeds now brushing
against his soul;
his pain now
dimming
lifting
once again releasing
as
the sound of little feet
advance !!!
Oh how he loved his little Alfie
his grandson so dearly.
"Oh Grampy I knew you'd be here ; please tell me a story of magic days !"
"Your stories Grampy always end 'Happy Ever After'."
He lifted and held
little Alfie so close to him
before setting him down on his lap;
and then Grampy the story teller
rises above those acute pains ,
those grim memories
those vivid images
of war
of death
of pain
to now see
the beauty
that surrounds him;
his home
a haven
a paradise
filled with a
beautiful charm.
A land so green
leaves a
magical golden and red hue;
sweet scented flowers in sweet array
birds a-singing
and the sun eternally shining
on the red poppies of the land.
The bleakness
lifted further as
his dark memories are accepted
intermittent pain he expected
and the surrounding beauty
he eternally appreciated.
Grampy and Alfie walk hand in hand to the field brimming
over with such beautiful red flowers.
"Today Alfie I shall tell you the story of
'The Magical Poppy Field'."
