---

When times of glory are reflected on
by those with no part to play,
it is often scanned with scheming eyes,
to strip humanity away.
'He who controls the past, controls the future'
A lonely wanderer mused.
A passage that is twisted and bent,
to keep both sides bemused.

Pick up another lens,
look through the battered camera.
See the century in a blinding flash,
see the blinding wonder.
'Everyone writes as a partisan'
said the traveller with no intent.
But hidden between the tired crowd
was the dark eyed gent.

In the circle of his kohl-rimmed eyes
were worlds difficult to see.
Yet it was the one we lived in,
it was the passing century.
'Lebensraum - kulturkampf!'
Screamed the boy who hurt to live.
But the conflict crushed his 4 stone frame,
there was nothing else to give.

Lives are gone and legacy remains
hidden under heavy-hearted rubble.
Words plucked from city ruins,
clutched by those in trouble.
The Falling Soldier has long since fallen,
so now we all sit down.
Waiting in unquiet anticipation,
perhaps for the world to drown.

---

Submitted by: michaelwilliampaulreviews on November 05, 2019