Train of Silenced Voices

This is a small tribute to one of England's Finest world war 1 poets who died A week before the great war ended. Nov. 4th 1918 Train of Silenced Voices Fares settled in blood, crammed, Pickled in a tin. Unseen flames over veiled skies, Smoke billows, Death dancing, with lifeless limbs, Souls soaring. Shunts on steel, the sounds Of snakes hissing, Closer it weaves and winds, Its foreboding tail, Grief stands alone, amidst The awaiting wake. Silence broken by quivering shells, Inner terrors, The platform dressed, iced, Crisp funeral pall. Death's heirs without care, Distortion ahead. Lies. Cold steel burns on brakes, with grated teeth, Love's flawed mouth , Weeps in timeless sleep, To greet voided dreams, Crushed, heart-aches. The train of death came into view no footsteps Did they tread, The silenced voices Disembarked, weighted, To good effect, The stench of war And free men the Coffins of the dead. Silenced , unfulfilled greatness, Stolen verses, An infant, a man, a soldier, Now his Maker's. My patriotic, unselfish hero, Forever masked. Unknowingly remembered, Beyond war's curse . Returning home, no waving flags, Just a futile grave. Sleep where penned, Deep Under Turfy Grass. Here rests my life, my son, The poet Wilfred Owen.