London on November 11th 1919 – a two minute silence at 11 o’clock to observe the first anniversary of the end great war. This photograph by an unknown artist conveys the collective grief of a people. To stand in that crowd in the stillness and silence for two minutes – the individual weight of personal loss and mourning magnified beyond imagination.
The closest Saturday (my poetry day) to Remembrance Sunday, and a suitable poem. It is 100 years since the first Armistice day.
Armistice 1919
On year after, crowds gather, silence begins
We weep at the lost youth of a nation
And the guns stopped, war’s cessation
We won, they say, but no one really wins
The folly of human kind, the old, old sins
Arrogance leading onwards to damnation
On year after, crowds gather, silence begins
We weep at the lost youth of a nation
Remembering the dead, and not who wins
Piece together fragments without causation
Honour those lost in commemoration
And no more the triggers on the firing pins
On year after, crowds gather, silence begins
The closest Saturday (my poetry day) to Remembrance Sunday, and a suitable poem. It is 100 years since the first Armistice day.
Armistice 1919
On year after, crowds gather, silence begins
We weep at the lost youth of a nation
And the guns stopped, war’s cessation
We won, they say, but no one really wins
The folly of human kind, the old, old sins
Arrogance leading onwards to damnation
On year after, crowds gather, silence begins
We weep at the lost youth of a nation
Remembering the dead, and not who wins
Piece together fragments without causation
Honour those lost in commemoration
And no more the triggers on the firing pins
On year after, crowds gather, silence begins
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