inside the underground corridors of death
Private Harold Williams of the Welsh Guards
disturbed by the sudden silence of the guns
and the warmth of the sun on his tortured face
lies amongst the broken bones and broken hearts
of his comrades and friends
desperately searching for his last and final breath
folded in the rags of his bleeding tunic
blood stained words on an empty cigarette packet
buried in the cold clay of the weeping trench wall
the words became a regimental epitaph:
'let us die in an angels skin
something pure without sin
that the forgiving earth and stone
can bury us in'
no funeral here
no flowers or wellwishers
no family black or farewell singing
no words on stone
only the emptiness of a single bell ringing
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Author:
john f skinner (
Offline) - Published: November 7th, 2018 12:38
- Comment from author about the poem: One of two war poems dedicated to my great uncle Harold Williams from Totnes who died at Cambrai aged 24.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 25
- User favorite of this poem: Fay Slimm..
Offline)
Comments3
A haunt of a read and a memorable lament of the victims who left their life-blood in those "weeping" trenches - your tribute to a long lost great uncle tells of his faith as death came to claim him and should be read to a much wider audience on this special day - - 1917 and the battle of Cambrai where Harold Williams died will now stay in my mind - thank you for sharing this fine dedication which will go into my favourites for later re- reading.
An excellent write - I can say no more than echo Fay's words.
Very good write, so many died, so many to remember, may your Great Uncle be at peace with himself and the Universe.
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