Frozen In Time Poem by luke boulding

The turbulent inrush of breakers,
In every cry of every man,
Built cairns of pearl-grey pebbles.
Three of a kind all letting fly, and I swear,

Our brains ache, in the merciless iced east winds that knive us…
But there are no trees, no natural shelter,
The dropping of the daylight in the West.
Pain itself, the image of agony;

Who died where and how, on which sepia date.
Was nothing but the stars and the grey sky,
And to fields which don't explode beneath the feet,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command.

Poppies had already been placed,
On individual war graves. Before you left.