Two Minutes

Distant thunder rings out across pristine lands,

Hands, weathered by life’s lessons reach for heart and crown

And settle down for two minutes of peace.

The modern world ceases unfurling and rapidly curling

To once more remember those long since deceased,

For some, not so long, for the drums of war do not stop

Just because the earth has grown wiser with ages,

For the pages of history continue to be written in blood.

And whilst we cannot erase the stain of the battle

So often in vain, for those silent two minutes

We remember the bullets that cut down our heroes

And ended their turmoil’s in trenches and deserts

In distant lands, on foreign soils and plains.

Hats clasped in hands as heads bow towards stone relics

As the old boy picks his moment to rise from the chair

He is bound to these days, the metal reminder

Still sits in his back, where the three seconds of lapsed concentration

Cut him down to become yet another hero of nations.

His knees buckle under the strain of age, but his page

Is already turned and his strength has returned for

Two minutes, no more, as he stands to endure

And to honour his brothers that lie in poppy strewn fields.

His eyes still burn with the life of that man that marched

Across shell shocked lands. His strength therein peaks,

And the tears that have so long stung the back of his soul

Roll forward and fall to his battle scarred cheeks.

A minute has passed and still the silence is true

The boy with blue eyes rocks forward in his chair

And tries once more to steady his unbalanced frame.

The reminders of war are raw here and he bites on his lip

To try not to slip and let out yet another cry from the pain.

His phantom feet ache, and his one good arm is held firm

To his head in salute; resolute, that for one minute more

He will honour his brothers that lay strewn across sands

In distant desert lands that are still finding space

For their graves.  The cenotaph helps with his strength

And watches over the boy, holds the wreath, burdens grief

For his young haunted mind. But he still makes the time,

To forget his own burdens and remember those now underneath.

The thunder returns as chimes of distant bells ring about

And signs the ending of two minutes silence. Then, rising up

Above the retuning abruption, the eruption of bugles sounds out.

The Last Post echoes beyond barriers of history and time.

Divine souls lost in the eons of conflict once more return

From the grave, from the sea and the urn

And stand once again at the shoulders of those that remain.

For many still carry the pain of the injuries, memories of war,

But they endure, for their brothers have paid the ultimate price

For freedom cannot be won without the sacrifice of heroes

That we remember this day. And remember once more,

Until the time comes again to caress the faces of lost friends

In places beyond the senseless destruction of war.

But for now, just two minutes in a silent November,

Whilst we will never understand the loss, 
We will always remember.

Copyright © 2011 by Simon Austin 

 

For my Uncle Gary x