The 9th of May




Laughter lingered in the cold night air,

Like snowflakes caught in crystal glass,

Voices shouted, and tears were wept,

For the lost, returned, for memories kept,

For days we feared would never pass,

Those long, long nights of sad aware.


Bright flames flashed from torches high,

Like sunbeams dazed in sea waves dance,

Trumpets sang, and tunes were played,

For the joy, restored, the reckoning made

With broken hearts and bloodied lance,

The heavy  price we paid, but all knew why.


Banners waved like a crimson sea,

Whipped by winds of a mighty gale,

Toasts were made and glasses filled,

For the struggle won, for all those killed

By bomb, by flame, machine gun hail,

Who fought for us, for our right to be.


Boots on stone shook city walls,

Like drums of gods in victory songs,

Engines hummed, our planes swept past,

For one last time, this flight their last,

Their courage to us all belongs,

That sung will be in hallowed halls.


But then an old man, grey and bent,

Like a lion, old, on distant plain,

Rose slowly straight with upraised hand,

From which there poured a silent sand,

Who said, “This war is won, this dragon slain,

But cursed are we to new torment.”


Then to dreadful shapes he did transform,

As silence sapped our will to speak,

Now a banker, now like a fiend,

Then merchants who on death were weened,

With vile corruption their breath did reek,

Who rob the world like locust swarm.


Through shifting shapes he led our eyes,

From present wrongs to future woes,

Then changed again, with grizzled hair,

To show us scenes of life right fair,

Where no one slaves and no one owes,

We knew that all he said was wise.


“This,” said he, “can all be yours,

But the fight is hard and always long,

Though by you slain, they shall return,

So long we sleep and never learn,

That endless greed and endless wrong,

Make endless crime and endless wars.”


Then from us, he turned, he walked away,

And left us to our darkened night,

Our joy now tinged with feelings sad,

Yet sure of what we knew we had,

For we had fought for what was right,

For what was won the 9th of May.










5 comments on “The 9th of May

  1. Irina says:

    Pas des commentaires- je tire mon chapeau et je pleure, Maître…
    Une chose seulement: Mon grand-père… Berline… a quoi bon?


  2. Irina says:

    Mon cher Maître❗❗❗
    Je devais être plus clair dans mon 1er commentaire: je tire mon chapeau a Vous, Poète❗
    Et je pleure parce que je suis Russe, mais histoire a été complètement révisée…
    En Russie c’est pas trop évidente, mais ici (en Amérique du Nord) cette révision est terrifiante, sinon horrifique…
    Je dois Vous parler, c’est urgent, alors permettez-moi Vous écrire, svp⁉ ça m’est égal – ici ou email, juste donnez-moi Votre permission & Votre préférence si Vous voulez bien.
    Grande Merci ❗❗❗


  3. Irina says:

    Just a Vous aider Vous souvenir de moi ~~~Votre email je le connais déjà. Merci~_~


  4. Christopher Black says:

    Oui, certainement, j’attend votre message par email si vous voulez ou ici. et un grand merci.


  5. Irina says:

    Maître, je Vous demande pardon❕ j’ai presque Vous envoyé mon message, mais après avoir bien réfléchi, j’ai compris que (encore une fois, ou plutôt comme toujours) je suis une lâche névrotique 😕 alors ce message Vous le recevrez ce matin par email.

    PS. Ma mère est devenue Votre “fan” fidèle ~~~ elle a consacrée toute la journée à Votre blog😌
    MERCI❕🌠🌠🌠&a plus❕


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