A Raging Calm
Truce is but a timed peace
Given to our weary souls
Tottering guns, booming mines
Away-away with all of them.
When we tire to re-fire
Into truce we oft retire.
When friction, its poison work
Our bones shrink, our minds fail
Though this be no age’s handiwork
When victory’s but an illusion
Bought at so bloody a price
Peace! Peace! Aloud we shout.
Yet when calm comes
An alien it is…
It haunts the soul
Like some sinister ghost
Our truce... our peace they grow tense
Ready to snap at the slightest touch.
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