Tick . . . Tock . . .
Come the calling of the clock
Silence is its answer;
Eleven even sounding bells
Recollect our friends no more.
We rise in honour of the
Fallen; standing we quiet the
Dying and remember why we
Tall, speechless.
We see blood pouring
Out from those slashing
Wounds. We see the vomit
Floating across soldiers� lost limbs.
Their hearts still beat to the
Clock�s tick-tock as the scream does
Hit; shock vibrates each bone to
Crack and screech and snap and snap.
Tick on, tock on, close your eyes.
Think on, remember their gasping sighs
Of despair. One-one-nine. Bang, thud, down.
One-two-oh, we are - bang, down, dead � free.
� Joseph Tradescent, 11/11/2004
Poems
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