Lest We Forget . . . remembering the fallen.

I was felled.
Not by bullet, by shrapnel or by shell,
But shock.
The pen that had written those words so elegantly upon the page was indeed,
Mightier than a sword,
A gun
A bomb.
It smote me, sucked the wind from my sails.
I felt weak, unsteady,
Floating.
Not euphoric like in dance or from drink;
Floating as in Limbo, as in death.
To never dance,
Be merry,
Be happy.
I crashed unceremoniously to the floor but,
No pain could inflict me like those words.
No –
Nothing.
No feeling could be worse,
No fear greater.
I fought to rise,
Heard life – tick tocking.
From the cries of the wee bairn next door, the honk of a horn, dogs barking, to the fizz of the wireless.
Life!
Where for me, holding that letter,
Only death.
I pictured his face but knew,
Like father's it would fade.
And poor Mrs Bailey, her son too,
But desertion had caused derision.
So, her loss not greater than mine?
How petty, how stoic and cruel I had been
For death comes but once and should unite not divide.
So let us this day and always,
Look upon the fallen with pride, love,
And hold them in our hearts and minds.
Lest we forget, all that they gave . . .