We might not ask you to go to war in a foreign field,

however in the hundred years since the flower of youth

died needlessly and with great pain, we have lied

to you over and over again, and I for one as an old man apologise

for what the world has done to you.

 

This flowering youth, every generation’s future bright young things,

constantly lied to, not just here but the world over,

until they become the embodiment of the lie to sell

on again and keep the splintered, creaking wheel

at the helm looking shining and bright.

 

The wars we send you to now have got as many casualties

that walk around the British streets, dazed, confused, force fed

on myth like hope and expectation  and the eagerness of conformity

which sees many fall, their arms not even reaching for the heavens

in a final prayer of astonished atonement.

 

The self-perpetuating lie takes many forms

and yet each time delivered with the smile of this time,

we won’t fail you again, and we who have been there,

spread it easily for you, those we have bought into the world

to suffer, for my part, I’m truly sorry for we really have neglected you.

 

Ian D. Hall 2015.

Inspired by Vera Brittain’s Testament of Youth.