The old man in a cafe bar, hands clasped around his tea.
Invisible, he could be a ghost, who’s only seen by me?
It kinda gets me thinking about what he’s seen and done?
And why is he sipping lukewarm tea, at a table all alone?
Some say he’s still got family now scattered far from home.
I’m sure he must be missing a daughter, wife or son.
Ribbons on his blazer, exhibited with pride.
Served alongside brave young men who went to war and died.
They told him he was lucky to survive the battle’s rush.
He returned with memories, tormented in the hush.
He fought for “ Homes for heroes” and bravely did his best.
He brought the theater home with him, the guns won’t let him rest.
There was no time for brooding when the war was done.
He had to make the best of it, and find a job back home.
They promised him a “ Hero’s home”, a fortress safe and sound.
They put him in a concrete box, ten floors above the ground.
A sprawling modern high rise, reaching for the sky.
Ascension to internment, loneliness on high.
The planners could not understand how life in his old street.
Could not be replicated at fifteen hundred feet.
When he was a young man, when life gave him choices.
He did n’t need to listen to dissenting voices.
Now he is invisible, left alone to die.
In his concrete coffin, high up in the sky.
He fought for King and country gladly went to war.
Now he sits and wonders, what he was fighting for?
Because brave men never shout and courage seldom roars.
Tortured souls who dwell with us, ravaged by their wars.
Battle scarred forever, in unfamiliar places.
A marching throng diminishing, a sea of weathered faces.
Surviving on their memories, resigned to growing older.
In a world of progress, society grows colder.
These hero’s are among us, we often fail to see.
The old man in the cafe, hands cupped around his tea.
Ordinary soldiers, voices softly spoken
Climbing to hereafter, although the lifts are broken.
-
Author:
Chris Duffy (
Offline) - Published: March 8th, 2022 08:04
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 8
Offline)
Comments3
Yep. Society plays some sick games with us if we aren't a part of their model family unit. Doesn't only happen to old soldiers.
Yep. Society plays some sick games with us if we aren't a part of their model family unit. Doesn't only happen to old soldiers.
Thanks. I agree and on reflection, I thought that the old soldier had been done many times before.
I suppose the point is that life often promises more than it delivers.
Do not reflect Chris, on what has been done before. Some (not all) messages are worth repeating often. Here you cover at least two themes close to my consciousness: The horrendous cost war inflicts on the participants. Beyond death, both physical and mental injuries (high suicide rates here now among returnees from Afghanistan) result of PTSD. Not only but also the treatment they receive from society (Govt Agencies) upon their return.
You also cover the the little boxes they and many others are housed in by unfettered property development.
Good work Chris.
Good morning Dave.
Nice to hear from you and thanks for the kind feedback.
I totally agree with everything you have expressed here but whilst writing, I could n't help thinking that it was reminiscent of Ralph McTell's song Streets of London and therefore a bit cliched.
I'm not from a military background but the issues you have highlighted have been circling around in my mind for years, and each time I meet anybody from this sort of background, I cannot help but feel grateful and above all proud.
What happens to many after they have left the military is unfair beyond words. They deserve much- much more.
Best regards.
Chris.
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.