Patricia Cresswell Poet Free verse

They Can'T Find Home

an’t find home

trees trunked as pillars
a cathedral gallery
edges my road
through french farmland
waking in mists of spring
brown arched buttresses push green
into the face of god
a somber holiness escapes,
the sound echoed
among foliage floating above 
I sit to rest
and there silently arise
between rough bark
men, grey as leaf mold
approach to offer
their deaths carried gingerly
in cupped hands 
taste this, our tales of mortar shelled
star burst murder
on nights yellow with gas
lungs choking closed
blown into eternity
by mined field’s crop of demise or
whining whistle of rifle spew entering 
warm sacred bodies oozing life their beauty,
sweet youth gone to earth 
beneath grasses where they should be
lover’s heat now
all, wander still
those blood soaked fields mud,
noise and death
laid down
to pave a path

for old men dreaming glory.

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John Fleming October 22, 2017 at 3:31 PM I have been trying, on and off, for quite a while to finish a poem I started several years ago as a tribute to the men of the First World War; I have to say this is quite brilliant, Patricia! Fantastic images! Wilfred Owen and Siegfried Sassoon would have nodded their esteemed heads in respectful admiration and agreement...beautifully composed, Patricia...truly it is. My warmest regards. :) john

Patricia Cresswell September 17, 2017 at 5:13 PM Thank you Craig.

Old Man Emu September 17, 2017 at 4:08 PM poignant write Patricia, so many young lives lost! Took the reader within as a silent witness. Regards, Craig Patricia Cresswell September 17, 2017 at 4:37 PM Thank you Craig.

Demetrios Trifiatis August 4, 2017 at 1:52 AM An impressive parade of imageries that captivate the heart with their beauty dear, Patricia. Patricia Cresswell August 4, 2017 at 1:59 AM I was watching a documentary film on Wrl War one battle fields. I began to feel a great sorrow in my heart thinking of all those young men, many mere children, who died there. I believe in an everlasting spirit which goes on forever. Are they still in those killing fields because they have not been found? Spirits wandering alone and lost.