Rememberance

"Human history becomes more and more a race between education and catastrophe."
-H. G. Wells



In our classrooms no laurelled pictures,
No pennants to hail a passing lord.
We see no shrouded men in the fixtures,
And chant not in mindless accord.
We have buried those who once did rise
Our days no brighter for their sacrifice and pain,
And only in our elder's tear-filled eyes
Do we see the shadow of ashen rain.

From the stricken years under a mad sky
Will we remember that iron shroud?
For unlike the fearless few who dared defy
The masses are always easily cowed,
So that suit-clad men may at last
Have saved themselves a glorious past.
And flowers at their feet will be norm
Criticism smothered in unison storm.

No point in wishing for ungrantable gifts,
History is stubborn and memory drifts.
Names are replaced and meaning changed,
Lunatics are saints and the enlightened deranged.
We try to honour those whom we readily forgot
But in their hollow names only ill is now begot,
And so in stainless halls we silenced the call
For freedom and liberty for one and for all.


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