WW2 poem
13th May, 1945
I’m going home today and I’m leaving
my little meadowed valleys and sweet, sweeping plains;
leaving the sunrise glistening in a misty haze
to home; to the broken pillars of stone and clay.
The stations blur; a rush of sullen ashen faces
of people that push and squash; they mash my knees
against my suitcase and I’m struggling
for air. I sink deeper into my old woollen coat.
The murky glass leaves green for black
columns rising from the broken floor. Grim-lined
souls lingering in doors and windows -
like dark shades- haunt the way
home. I’m home today,
without my little valleys and sweet, sweeping plains;
left with a sunset that burns the smoking city haze
crimson, it lurks around that broken stone and clay.