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governments quarrel, bicker
to war, to war, comes a cry
not of you, or I, but of those
protected by cannon fodder
for pride of country!
sacrificing women, men
for the safety of our citizens
on the other side of the world!

as a blood spattered child, alone
weeps for his parents

© by DC Lessoway

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find within the anger, humor
find within the despondency, hope
find within the grief, joy
find within the distraction, focus
find within the disgust, belief
find within the fear, assurance
find within the disapproval, agreement

only because they choose to go
give their life for us
all of us!

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Yeah, some lowly politician is responsible for low oil prices run by greedy global conglomerates who use free trade zones to run roughshod over sovereign nations. Really, the companies care about whether they create jobs or not? Really? Give your head a shake. How those oil companies must be laughing at us in their grand scheme to create this ugly divisiveness of human hate. Shifting the blame to politicians who have no power over their business plans to rape the land until the last dollar.

That is the thing about human nature. We can choose to act one way or another.

This: disengaging your brain, falling for the rhetoric, remaining uneducated, seeing nothing but the surface and thus becoming an odious sheep, bleeding out your vile, shallow hate;

Or this: seeking the truth, looking behind the curtain to expose reality, sticking to the arduous ‘higher road’ in the face of fabricated deception, sticking to the “greater good” for you, your family, your community, your country.

Is this really what #rememberanceday is about? Is this the sum of the sacrifice our mothers and fathers?  Do you truly believe this is what they wanted for us?

Do you?

Choose…

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for their sacrifice
on fields of bracken mud
after the battles’ crescendo
victory hard won
perhaps, in their
final moments
a smile finds them
in their grief
knowing the good
they’ve done to
keep us safe

My father and his brothers were in WWII. His brother Fred was left behind, buried at the Groesbeek Canadian War Cemetery in the Netherlands. That was 19 years before I was born.

Closer to my time, my home, my heart, my sister passed in 1998, then my Dad in 2004 and my Mom in 2008… all in early November.

Thus this month, always, I simmer above a rippling pool of grief. It laps at the fringes of my heart, keeping the sting of tears ready at a moments remembrance…

I am not of a lost
generation of souls
who in selfless magnanimously
tore themselves from
wailing grasps, from reasonably
safe home and farm
to be formed, shaped via
lessons in brutality, in dispatching
flesh and blood, souls of the enemy
then those, able to return
soul shattered, grappled
within shaky bounds
within misconstrued, broken normalcy

I am of the generation who
in quiet prairie fields
pause, reflect, striving to
grasp a sliver of profundity
how free, safe I stroll
upon their broken souls
lost upon the fields of battle

My father, he would have been 101 this month. Born on November 25, 1912, passed on November 6, 2004.

Remembrance Day always brings him to mind. He was stationed at Point Grey in Vancouver before being sent off to England just before the war ended.  Ah… warm memories of his voice, muted temperament, mannerisms. How through this quiet ponderation I am my father’s son.

The picture: his vibrant, not-yet-experienced-war smiling face. This is of him arm in arm with my mom on their wedding day in the late 30’s. Then the other, the only way I’d ever known him: a tired smile, bend and weary from a decades-long burden of supporting a family and the ring of white hair. The barber, fisherman, my father.

At times, to think of him is to pour salt into a wound; at others, it’s a soft breeze. But always in this time of the year, a persistent, dull ache pierces me.

© 2012 by DC Lessoway