A Foreign Field

What sadness lies behind
That man’s face?
What history is in
That old man’s stoop?
Was it a bullet in the spine?
Found in a foreign field,
Fired by a foreign troop?

What sadness lies behind
That woman’s tears?
Was it
that her lover
Died young, as she
held his hand
As he ceased to be?

What of that boy’s playful grin?
What loom’s up behind him?
Is it that his parents left
when he was young?
That a cigarette was his Dad,
that its smoke was his Mum?

Faces that give nothing away,
Moods that camouflage past,
Belonging to people who are not
What they seem.
Faces that won’t let you know
who they are,
or where they have been.

And no telling what they have done.
And no telling what is to come.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s