War Poem

I chanced on a painting by Paul Nash. Blasted trees stuck gnarled fingers in the air rising out of a desolate landscape But there was none there it was grey green in its emptiness It was as if the end of the world had come in a tempest and gone leaving nothing but despair. Despair in the landscape echoing across the land. Despair in the living lost of their loved ones That painting lives on in my mind more than photos of tanks and guns and battle glare exposed daily in the media.