The Hidden Corners of War

A DETOUR TO YPRES, (on returning from a holiday in France 2013) WHAT A WASTE A DIM TARRY SUN CLOSES, THE ERRODED SCRAGGY DAY, IN HIDDEN CORNERS OF SOURED BOGS BROKEN MEN, AND MEMORIES SIT MY DREAM WANDERS MONO-CHROME OUT OF THE LONG WIRED NIGHT TAINTED IN FILTH, SEPERATED BY, TWO HUNDRED YARDS OF A DEATH GARDEN; BEHIND MY CLOSED EYES, LAYED OUT IN WAVES OF LAST BREATHS COME VISITS FROM YOU, AND THOSE LOST WORDS, I WISH I HAD SAID! COUGHING ORERS LEAD US TO THE MORNING, PINS, RIBBONS, BRASS STARS FOR THE DEAD, BEYOND THE SHARPENED LEAD AND SULPHUR; WITH BACKWARD STEPS WE SEE WHERE WE HAD STOOD WE FELL, BUT THE PAIN WAS MANY MILES TO THE WEST THEY ALL FORGOT, THEY ALL NEVER SAW, BUT! THEY KNOW, THEY PROCLAIM PEACE! MANY POPPYS, BUT JUST BRING MORE WAR.