Station Road

Station Road

is a sack full of poppies

and war and women

and existence,

bunting strung


the drunken village

as I honour

whose silhouettes

lay down at rest.

As the remembrance

Is perfected,

everywhere I look

each eye holds a secret

of agony or love

masked by the saddest smile

I have ever known,

as we think

of those

in glistening boots

until he strained the top lacing.

A victor –

great Grandfather

reminiscent of a young cadet,

an astonishing moment

for the self-preserved

a reunion fuelled

with jargon

outside homes

full of the unknown

but without life

for the dark to weaken.

Wise men live

to become wiser men,

vigilant in turn

they ponder

and give their prints

to a wraith in a soldier’s way,

shoulders taut

arms still like board

and their knees

like a well-oiled joint

march on as they

have always done.



Zack Ashley

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