Walking Through The Poppies

Flower collapsed and defeated
Crushed in curling despair
A scarlet splash
That once grew from a distant wreath
Resting against a foreign plinth
Begging one to remember
A bright and bloody symbol
That told a story
Of thunder and tanks
Of Flemish mud grown thick with gore
Of barbed wire that wore tattered flesh
Like fabric swatches
A smeared cruel banner
Rooted in honor
A dying icon
A forgotten call to arms
Trampled and silenced across the heel
Of a discarded shoe

2 responses to “Walking Through The Poppies

  1. Surely the poem is yours. And the letter, with the poppy pressed inside? Is that a family remembrance, or an equally personal remembrance belonging to a stranger?

    I’m so, so happy I was made to memorize “In Flanders fields” as a schoolgirl. I never see a poppy now without thinking of it, and remembering.
    Thank you for this remembrance.

    • Sadly, it is a stranger’s letter, placed online for all to see. The sentiments expressed are almost too touching and pathetic to bear. I hope he was united with his ‘dearest girl’ quickly, and for a long, happy time.

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