HIS SILENCE.

A BOY AND HIS GRANDDAD IN 1950S

Granddad carried his silence
Like a cloak. His chair by the fireplace
Held his shadows, dark images
Of trenches, friends blown apart,
Decapitated, armless, legless,
Crowded around him as he sat
And stared. Some days in his garden
With you by his side, his comrades
Hid beyond the sun’s rays,
The cloud’s motion, the birdsong,
He’d speak in slow monosyllables
Of flower’s growth or colour or scent
Not caring at that moment why the guns
Were silent or where his friends all went.

Reviews

[nostal]

very sad read, evoking such emotion.