Matthew Mair

School: Banchory Academy, Aberdeenshire

A Time Of and In War

6th of June, Nineteen Forty Four

I felt a disturbance that very day,
As if Death had a point to make, a subject to say,
War and rumours of war,
We are told shroud the end of time,
Well if that's the case I am out, gone.

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow,
Creep in this petty pace from day to day,
I don't know what a certain bard there was meaning to say,
But for me, the claustrophobia of never knowing what tomorrow holds,
Save the certainty of knowing it will be the same,
Over and over,
Now as I ruminate on my current state,
I cannot see a way to overcome this fate,
How will I come back, come alive,
Stuck in this mind a hive,
Of the surreal reality I face,
And if I survive today then I will ponder tomorrow,
Tomorrow who never comes,
Is simply a facade for hope for further on,
And then one day, sitting there instead of tomorrow,
Is Death...
And still tomorrow never came.

(Company of soldiers)
So we run on to the sand,
Fighting for our country,
Fight for our land,
Our upbringing, our love, Us, someone's toil,
Is discarded upon the beaches lustful soil.

I am not heard save the bang of the gun,
The scream from them as he fails to run,
And in bayonets,
Bombs of bomber jets,
And the man as he lets,
The monster inside him take control,
A man as he rises up the death toll,
And here I am.

The sea sparkles up here above, a thousand sapphires,
By the end of the day, did rubies not fall?

There is a great flash of red,
Orange, and sand is flung,
Breath refuses to leave the Privates lung.

As there is a great phwoom Time seems to sit on the edge of her seat,
The world goes quiet and my heart flickers and beat.

All around in killing frenzy,
And so I, Time stand still and freeze.

I sit awaiting,
After Time has done her fating,
The young man meets my eye,
And he does know I'm a lie,
Ha, you're right son,
I, Tomorrow never come.

When the battles lost and won,
We survey the field that,
Ate the dreams and life of many,
Reduced to a walking stat,
A number, a figure nothing more,
A mechanical prayer for the service they done,
In a service so abstract, none,
Like the beaches upon which they fought,
Glory and greatness out there they sought.

And the sands were washed clean and the blood stain away,
And Time ticked on and lived another day.

The chance, the fate,
And I wait...

My name is William and my brother was John,
We died for our nation,
And our nation lives on,
And so with it goes,
The personal story,
A tale of a dream dashed on a broken waved sea.


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