Flashbacks

Ainsley Kempenoar

 

One day my young grand daughter came in from school,

Her blue eyes twinkling like a rippling pool,

 

She hopped on my lap, then I heard her say,

“Grandpa, Grandpa, look at the f lower I got today.”

 

I stared down at the poppy, the crimson red,

Screams of horror echoing through my head,

 

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath,

My mind racing back through those horrific deaths,

 

I remember the cries, those tears of pain,

The frightened, the wounded, my comrades slain,

 

The fear in their eyes overwhelmed my mind,

I could not bear the emotions, I tried to leave them behind,

 

The blood drenched the ground like a long red sheet,

Death was a curse I fought not to meet,

 

Could the torture be real, or was it just a dream?

Was this what war was supposed to mean?

 

Shrieks so piercing, like the prick of a pin,

Those howls of agony that swept through the wind,

 

Blasts of rifles, bombs and grenades,

Soldiers paying the price that shouldn't be paid,

 

Those soldiers meant no less than you and me,

Risking their lives so we could be free,

 

"Grandpa, Grandpa, is that a tear in your eye?

I did not mean to make you cry.'

 

I was brought back to reality as I heard those soft words,

Looking back into those bright blue eyes, my thoughts she hadn't heard,

 

I smiled at her, proudly wearing her poppy of red, …………                         

And silently prayed she would never see those some days of dread,

 

“I)ear, your poppy is a reminder that we are now free,

And should strive to live in peace and harmony,