Ode to ‘The Fallen’

Very difficult it is for us to feel like we can appropriately respect the memory of the fallen. They have endeared our hearts to God – for their sacrifice – those who spilt their lives in battle.

Over these once-troubled waters,

Traversed ancestor comrades,

Provident sons and daughters,

Until no more they gave.

For a time they were born,

One for us hardly called ‘blessed,’

Given tasks forlorn,

But certainly they addressed.

Died far too early,

Lives all unfulfilled,

Banished to heaven’s burly,

Beyond what our ancestors willed.

It hastens delight,

Right now to know,

What they weren’t afraid to bite,

Saved us the blow.

Standing solemn,

At the Elevens,

Imagining bombings,

Count forth the heavens.

Wondrous bliss,

To now but know,

Blessings not amiss,

With which now to stow.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The past gives essential meaning to our present and future. We cannot and must not ever saw-off our identity. Until the last digger ascends, and then beyond, we’ll cherish this model of national and international camaraderie ever more.

As we focus on our collective Remembrance Day traditions and what the fallen have advanced for us over the generations—no less freedom in the way and manner of life—we come to a mood of thankfulness. Thanks for this sort of thing, like a thanks to God, can never repay, no, not ever.

This solemn practice of remembrance, then, is such an important mode of life. For even if we considered being born and entrapped in that time we’d no doubt shudder at the thought of such things. There’s little personal glory in death for one’s country, and certainly nothing of pleasure, only pain; myriad and indescribable pain for thought of leaving and of those left.

So, solemnity fills our gaggle and we stride the halls right now finding it hardly conscionable; we belong to these—those who paved our way in advance.

Lest we forget.

© 2010 S. J. Wickham.