welshrebel GMR

(28/09/62 / Cardiff, Wales, United Kingdom of Great Britain)

The Forgotten Hero


He rambles, solitary along the streets, His body enervated with aching feet,
He’s spent half his life deserted and alone, Heading for destinations unknown.

His clothes are soiled, rancid and torn, The shoes on his feet are totally worn,
A carrier bag holds his only effects, An outcast, an exile one of societies rejects.

Just a forgotten hero, who done his country proud,
But now he is forgotten, just a beggar in the crowd.

He’s an old man now, going on seventy four, A veteran and hero of the second world war,
The medals on his chest, he will not trade, They’re just a small reminder of the price so many paid.

A heroes welcome he received, in 1945, Now he struggles day by day just to stay alive,
By day he sits there begging, with memories in his head, Of the wounded and the dying and the ones he left for dead.

Just a forgotten hero, begging amongst the crowd,
Huddled in a doorway, a blanket, his only shroud.

The blinds of darkness are pulled upon day, It’s time to find a place to stay,
Headed for the local park, He makes his way through the shadows of dark.

It’s minus two and he shivers alone, Stretched out on a park bench, his icicle home,
The sequestered memories of his life flash by, As his haggard body let’s out a sigh.

Just a forgotten hero, sleeping out in the cold,
A park bench as a bed, no place for the old.

He’s found in the morning, by a passer-by, She stares, sheds a tear and asks herself why,
He’s no longer a burden or public liability, now that he’s found his peace, and tranquillity.

On his grave there is no inscription, No cross or stone of any description,
A mound of earth marks where he lay, But he’s still not known, even to this day.

Just a forgotten hero, who done his country proud,
Not even missed by the apathetic crowd.

Submitted: Monday, August 31, 2009
Edited: Monday, August 31, 2009

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