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As I reflect on the 100th anniversary of WW1 and the Remembrance weekend just past, and my ancestors who fought in it as part of the Ulster Divisions, I am moved by the fact that the initial glamour turned into a living hell. This poem is a tribute to the young men who knew their fate was coming before they went over the top and is written as a WW1 Poet who sees the end coming.

The Last Post

Fdf5205c-8b5b-4da8-a6dc-63fe28d680a9by Billy J. Stewart11 Nov 2014

Months of pouring out my words in seeming endless stream,
Laying bare the naked fury of my soul,
Echoed voices everywhere as in a midnight dream,
Creeping madness that has finally took its toll.
I cannot do the pointless shooting anymore,
I couldn’t do it even if I really tried,
I can barely pick my body off this cold trench floor,
Last night’s shell-box lying empty by my side.
The words have risen grimly from my sullen page,
They have reached my face and grabbed me by the throat,
Each one has breathed a fire to my burning rage,
They leapt to mock me from the pen here as I wrote.
No, the time for talking’s over I can plainly see,
I must prepare myself to go a different way,
In my vain fight to hold the tide that overwhelms me,
Gone the hope that used to herald in each day.
This is the last post for my bleeding heart,
As this darkness drags me closer to the grave,
No more the ramblings of a foolish man can I impart,
Its gone too far, too long, too late to save…