Cycle of Hope

  

My grandpa wept the other day

While he sat with his hand in mine.

His gaze moved on beyond my face

Drawn back towards another time.

He spoke of faces far away

A war on Earth, a fearful place,

Where men lost hope, their lives, their souls.

The grief stood raw upon his face.

His hands shook as he gently spoke

And he rocked gently to and fro.

Like the volley of the rifles

Still haunting him from long ago.

My grandma watched with worried eyes

I raised my hand to reassure.

I listened while he told his tale

He’d never found the words before. 

As his heart laid its secrets bare

I hoped he would at last find peace,

From memories of loss and pain

That marked his face in every crease.

But as his tremble slowed and stilled

As his eyes cleared and searched for mine,

I saw they held a question there

Hope that this is a better time.

My voice shook as I thanked my pa

For all that he had done for me

I told him how his sacrifice 

Had made sure we could all be free.

I met his gaze and spoke of hope

Of lessons learnt, promises met

I told him we commemorate

And honour him, lest we forget.

I spoke of choice and rights and peace

Of tolerance within our time

I told him tales of harmony

I smiled and held his hand in mine.