Kevan Smith - Raise

Raise eyes to the future, the flapping, torn cloth.  Lower eyes to the horror of young men being torn apart, strafed along the beach, bloodied sand spitting along bodies of wretched sons, into the hearts of crying mothers, choking fathers.

Raise sounds of gagging, gurgling splutters, last gasps thudding onto squelching red sand.  Torn tunics and hearts dragging over barbwire, then spluttering in death.

Raise scents of blood, guts, gore and the stench of piss and shit.  Fingers in ears trying to block the sounds of hopelessness.

I raise my eyes to the red dawn splitting the horizon.  One tear rolls down my cheek.   “We won’t forget you great grandy, we won’t forget”.