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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=521278" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Silence of War</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Behind the Curtains of a church window<br>Men in Prayer, orchestrated by sweat and Lice<br>Find relief from snipers gaze</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Beside the cross sits the last candle<br>Flickering precariously, searching for sanctuary from the wind<br>But the wick is near the end<br>And so are these men<br>The Harvest of War is almost in<br>For this is November 1918.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The German guns call like the song of the Siren<br>Irresistible, for only the dead will hear<br>New orders to cross the Sambre-Oise Canal<br>Another postcard for Historians to write</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Machine gunners scythe the ranks<br>Gone the Irish regiment, clover for the beast<br>I take shelter behind a splintered Oak Tree<br>Once magnificent, A survivor of Natures glory<br>Now a hideous specter to man’s intervention.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I wait here with Wilf my captain<br>Waiting for death to find me<br>The mud beckoning for blood, <br>The Canal red like the River Sticks<br>A feed for tomorrows Newspaper.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A groan from wilf, his eyes start to dim<br>Fear brings the Lord’s Prayer to my lips<br>A last haven for my soul to cling<br>I watch his spirit fly away, <br>As the words fade from my voice<br>Like so many others on this day of carnage<br>Wilf, my friend, died November 4th 1918</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet another contribution to this dark harvest, <br>Another soul for god to tender.<br>A statistic, a casualty of war, <br>To be remembered generically<br>A wreath to share with a multitude of lost darlings, <br>Another photograph to fade on the mantel piece<br>A piece of History for a grieving widow to dust</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the ranks of the dead<br>Angels count our losses<br>What dreams did we lose? <br>What voices were made silent? <br>What books were never written? <br>And how many tomorrows gone, <br>Lost in the darkness of death? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Under this oak tree, fading from memory<br>A soldier Wilfred Owen was taken too<br>Unspoken truth in unspoken poems<br>Silent to mortal’s ear<br>Another casualty of war<br>A feast of wisdom for angels to keep? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">For His words were far too much<br>For the hogs of war to stomach.<br>His poetry made silent by country’s shame, <br>Unpatriotic, not cricket old bean said the generals<br>Only now, through peace can we learn<br>The voice of one soldier, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">How I pity humanity<br>For silence is a killer<br>Democracy, and justice its victim, <br>And the inevitable Silence of war will kill us all.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Footnote<br> Wilfred Owen killed in action, Sambre-Oise Canal,7 days from Sanity<br>One of England’s Finest War Poets.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Steven+Cooke">Steven Cooke</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=521278" data-title="The Silence of War de Steven Cooke" data-description="Behind the Curtains of a church window
Men in Prayer, orchestrated by sweat and Lice
Find relief from snipers gaze

Beside the cross sits the last candle
Flickering precariously, searching for sanctuary from the wind
But the wick is near the end
A..."></div>
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