Nineteen-eighteen and the war
does end
This young man to Passchendaele
a year before he was sent
Still in his twenties yet
eyes so old
He shivers from much
and not from the cold
Back home he arrives to
a country torn
To Ireland’s green
fields he was born
His people spit and
turn their backs
As he heads home
with a heavy backpack
He left his home to
do the right thing
A peace to this world
he tried helping to bring
But words of propaganda
spoken still
By the ignorant and greedy
no humanity they feel
He holds his mother close
Tears run down her face
This ghost of a son
who fought for his race
Inside he goes and
words are spoken
But deep inside
He is now broken
For he’s seen war
for what it is
Never again will he
at them jeer
Those who he was
meant to hate
Who feel the same
as he, their cruel fate
Published by
Darren Greenidge
I'm a thinker, listener, a "question's pretty much everything" type of person. A seeker of knowledge, always restless, yet seeks the calm in life.
I love writing in all forms and am in the process of completing a number of ongoing projects. I love the craft of writing and the possibilities it holds. A magic carpet through the mind. I love pretty much all creative arts, music, film and theatre the leading ones.
Born in Hertfordshire in England, my family Irish, Welsh and English, I currently reside in Edinburgh, in Scotland. I'm drawn to coastal and mountain regions where I like to go to think and draw inspiration from. Ireland is a place that's dear to me, and I try to get back to see family and friends as much as possible.
My interests are wide and broad, too many to mention here, but history, archaeology, criminology, music and film are just some of those things I love.
I hope you enjoy my ramblings on here as that's what they are really. I'll let my fingers do the ''talking...''
View all posts by Darren Greenidge
Caliburnus Rises 