The picture stared down at the old man
Good times, friends for life
The decomposing body was in its second year now
The dust and webs had cloaked him like a blanket
Giving him comfort that life denied him
Time ago, they would have classed him as a hero, time ago
The black van took him away
Eventually releasing the body for burning
The prayers were brief
His final epitaph came when the council cleared the house
The picture was the last to go in the skip
Glancing at it, the worker remarked to his colleague
Old soldier.
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Author:
Paul Bell (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: November 9th, 2025 07:20
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 10
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments4
Deeply haunting, dark but soft, sad but peaceful, reverent one might say. Great images set the scene and it read as if from a novel. Well crafted
Sad our heroes end this way.
War is sad and a hero's burden is to sacrifice for another.
Deeply moving, Paul 🙏🏻🕊️
It is.
🙏🏻🕊️👍🏻
He fought for what? the isolation? Got it Paul. This one really lingers.
You sometimes wonder.
Paul, you wrote this with restraint that makes it devastating. No sentiment, just truth. That last glance...“Old soldier”...says everything. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Once a year tribute to our heroes.
Indeed. 🙏
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