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Sword of Honour

His father was an Aristocrat
His mother a high class whore
And he attended Public School
As had his ancestors before,
Achieved a First at Oxbridge,
Sword of Honour at Sandhurst,
Served in Bosnian with UNFOR 
Saw genocide at its very worst.

He resigned his commission
Following his service there
Couldn’t cope with the memories
The sense of guilt and despair.
He dosses on the Streets now
A homeless hulk without a name
Disowned by his family and
Just seen as a bringer of shame.

The people on the streets
Try to avoid his eye,
Toss him the odd coin
As they pass him by.
He nods his head in gratitude 
But he’s not really there
As he copes with his demons
Behind his thousand yards stare.

All people see is a vagrant,
An alcoholic and a souse.
He’s in Line for the title and
A seat in the Upper House.
Nobody gives a toss about
The many cases like him.
That’s just the modern world
You either sink or swim.

Come and join the forces
Show that you are willing
To go and serve your country
Accept the Old Queen’s Shilling.
Learn to fight and kill
Sell your service on the cheap
And if you crack and break
You’re out on the scrap heap.

Copyright © Terry Ireland | Year Posted 2022

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Speaks Volumes Date: 12/5/2022 2:31:00 AM Oh so sadly true. Such a high rate of suicide among our returned men an women, and if they stay alive so many end up on the street homeless and alone. Those with good families that stick by them are the lucky ones, but so many aren't lucky. Your poem is a wake call to anyone that can make a difference to this shameful treatment of our broken vets. Login to Reply Terry Ireland Date: 12/5/2022 3:24:00 AM Thanks Wen - you remember my Outing A Walt poem? one 0f the reasons we challenge them in the UK is that a lot of the Vets out on the streets are like primed bombs and quite a risk of violence from some at what they see as a great insult, particularly if they've lost friends or colleagues.