An old man rested on the vandalised bench, 
His mind wandering back to his time in the trench, 
Battering, pounding, screaming and death, 
Was all he could hear in a moment’s breath? 
Blood curdling sounds from all different angles
bombs from machines contorted and mangled,
Never a moment of peace in this hell on Earth,
Just voices in his head, tossing in his berth
When will all this fighting end?
 Will my life be like this forever? obliged to defend?
Can I survive this ordeal, to one day be free,
Listen to the birds singing in the tree,
Explosions so near, frightened to sleep,
Praying to the lord my soul to keep,
 The old man wakened sweating and scared,
From a nightmare so vivid of none he compared,
When he looked around this saddened place, 
 Did he fight for his freedom? Or this pity of disgrace?  
The City of Aberdeen.
My Trip Back home.
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William Sinclair Manson
Welcome friends. My name is William Sinclair Manson. I am 60 years young, I am Scottish but now living in a small village in England. I have been blogging for many Years but recently joined Wordpress and I love it. I have made many new dedicated friends here and hope to meet more around the World.

4 thoughts on “The Memory.”

  1. Oh, wow! This is stunning, impactful, and heartfelt. This is so emotional and very well-written as well. An excellent piece detailing what war can cause to others. I was really pulled in by the vivid imagery.

    I have enjoyed your content. I look forward to reading and commenting on more of your work. 🙂

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