In days full light,
deceitful, silent shore, beckoned boys and men.
It whispered to their anxious hearts,
‘Haven,’
One thousand and twenty-nine souls,
blind to their futures,
carried tamely,
towards concealed Hell.
With ‘Crack!’ and ‘Roar!’
massacre made known its presence.
Lives made target practise,
brothers broken.
Boats that bore the dreams of bravery,
gone adrift.
Of those who signed for King and country,
half were laid down.
‘Overboard!’
Feet never again to touch land,
leapt to obey.
Assaulted from on high,
sniper harried,
defence only an imagined prayer,
toiling through weight of water,
they died.
Determined few,
pushed towards the beaches,
seeking respite.
Respite unfound.
Hidden hunters named trip wire and mine,
hHarried shrinking brotherhood.
Such overwhelms of slaughter,
made Neptune blush.
Rusted, cutting wire,
ensnared men more.
Holding them in readiness,
to be cut down by machine gun tigers,
hiding in cave safe lairs.
So much,
promise and opportunity turned carrion for the crows,
or love of home.
When day was done,
scarce few remained.
Battle was won, glory was gained,
consigned now to history.
Yet, I beg you keep,
seven hundred and nine memories,
of lives given freely one Sunday morning,
for us.
© Jaqueline Phillips
March 2015.
