Poem - Reynold ‘Cleve’ Potter

Not Theirs' the Shame

By Reynold ‘Cleve’ Potter

Still unending, still ascending
Winds war's woeful way
Hearts are drearier, footsteps wearier
With each closing day.
Yet we trust a peace will dawn,
Herald in a warless morn

 Ever going, never knowing,
Where will be the goal?
Spirits drooping, bodies stooping,
Sadness in the soul,
Yet we hope the goal will be
Welcome Home beyond the sea.

Who'll unravel why we travel
Over war's broad barren waste?
Oh for places - green oases -
Life to breathe and taste.
And all night long, hope's lone lone star
Whispers how such places are.

Shells are screaming, bayonets gleaming.
How shall come the end?
Bullets flying, comrades dying,
God protection lend.
For well we know, if
Thou before, 'Gainst us vain the cannons roar.

Big guns booming, victims dooming,
Cain's mark on each brow.
Shrapnel falling, Azrael calling,
Must I answer now?
Oh Death, thou art imperious still,
I only answer at God's will.

Struggling mortals past hell's portals,
Shadows lengthen, none to strengthen,
Plunged in lurid flame,
Till sunless hours are past.
Torn and bleeding, Hell's fires feeding,
No friend near us, none to cheer us.

With carnage, blight and shame
While the tempests last,
Not theirs', Oh God, the shame who fight,
But theirs' who caused this awful blight.
Yea, we thank Thee, Saviour, Friend,
Thou'll strengthen, keep us 'till the end.