We wear the scars

We wear the scars

Battle weary bones

Bear the toll

And carry the cost

Of a private war.

There are no medals

For survival

When life is lived

So close to its edge

That danger

Is a lifestyle

Forced upon us

By accidents of birth.

Death can be

A career choice

When deprivation

Is a calculation.

And the cost

Of a Sunday paper

Is a bill of fare

To the deserving poor,

Who in times past

Were the salt

We rubbed into the earth,

Led every brutal charge

Trampled through

Ancient bloodied fields

To win a prize

They never saw

And never wore.

To be kept now

Lost to darkness,

Wrapped up, in cotton wool

A box of keepsakes,

Mementos in black and white,

Faded young faces

Ribboned rows,

Tarnished reminders

Soon forgot,

Of endless sacrifice.

Nobody knows

What it took to be,

Battles that were won

Just to come of age.

All we see is pallid skin

And broken veins.

Judge not the stoop,

Sloping shoulders,

Legs too bowed

To dance a jig

Eyes too dimmed

To read fine print

The inordinate time spent

Checking a till receipt,

And remember

They are the truth

Of what we all become

Should we survive the onslaught

And never ending conflict.

No matter

What your class

Or status,

Wealthy and healthy

Down-trodden and deprived.

If we live well and thrive

Or struggle, every single day

We all grow old

Eventually.

The burden we carry,

The scars we bear,

Are all our own.

They should be celebrated,

And never ridiculed,

Or neglected.