Albums of War

I saw those men in solemn chain trooping from the line hand on shoulder, link to link their bandaged eyes gas blind. The image burned upon my soul, and tied me to their chain A scene imbued with haunting light, my retina retains. The pock marked fields of battered earth with human debris clad, the lifeless shell shocked look of men, stare neither sane nor mad. The sepia tinted photographs of horrors captured mime Burst like exploding shrapnel in the crater of my mind The pages turn and blur the eyes of we who gaze aghast and rational defies the sombre images that pass The jaundiced eye of victory, a truth tells through the lens but monochromes in battered frames declare true fate of men These albums of the ghosts of war demand a heavy toll with nightmares of the conscience that stain the very soul Untidy groups of forfeit men awaiting fates last chance accuse from yellowed paper in their posed heroic stance Gaunt and lost they blindly stare with sad and frightened gaze their memory like photographs are fading with the glaze Creased and tear stained photo cards, memorabilia of a war Evidence and remonstrance like poppies bloody flower.