"On Thiepval's Walls" by Matt O'Neill

One of the many poems written by my father, poet & author Matt O'Neill:

“On Thiepval’s Walls” by MATT O’NEILL
(In memoriam: Pte. Martin Brogan, 1st Btn. Scots Guards – 15th September 1916, Ginchy.).

On Thiepval’s walls the names are carved
of husband, father, brother, son
who perished in perdition’s flames –
a warning sign for those to come.
A million men had taken arms,
lest thoughtless ignorance deplore;
a million men – God rest them all –
knew not what lay in store.

Was it gallantry that steeled your nerve
at freedom’s cause thus glorified?
Did the patriot in you volunteer,
or did the lottery of death decide?
Did you think this war would end all wars
as you joined with nervous derring-do? –
and with “Home for Christmas” in your ears,
did you think that it was true?

Did you shed a tear for mother dear
knowing she would cry for you? –
or save your tears for no-man’s-land
when you saw the evil men could do?
So many promises unfulfilled;
a nightmare song, a raucous scream.
So many lives just thrown away
to feed a madman’s dream.

The inferno wrought by Dante’s pen
was set at nought by the grim display
on the bloody stage of no-man’s-land
 by trusting souls taught to obey.
Haig sent his men in droves to face
machine gun hail with naked breast;
and when they died he laid the blame
on those so sorely pressed.

And when he returned to hearth and home
with honours pending for his part,
you stayed to sleep ’neath Flanders fields –
your courage failed to melt his heart.
No piper played a sad lament,
no headstone marked your resting place;
for you lie beyond the ken of man
wrapped in a state of grace.

So the birds came back to skies of blue,
the plough resculpted no-man’s-land,
the shattered trees grew tall again
and nature healed the broken strand.
The seasons passed across the sun,
your shroud a sea of golden corn,
and the rain became as teardrops shed
for your children never born.

The tears have dried beneath the walls,
a gentle breeze plays with the leaves;
the broken-hearted come no more,
for they’ve joined the souls for whom they grieved.
You gave your life in brutish war –
a sacrifice lest freedom falls -
but your name will live for evermore
carved on Thiepval’s walls.
(C) Matt O’Neill 2011.