One Hundred Years and Still by Virginia Hainsworth

The sound of the last cannon

echoes into infinity

and dies.

War is over.

‘Peace is declared,’ they have said.

The guns at the front, they are still.

But this song in my head

has a drumbeat to kill.

I am consumed, not by peace, but by dread.

Politicians congratulate themselves.

Negotiators sign,

unwind

and recede into the shadows.

‘Peace is declared,’ they have said.

The guns at the front, they are still.

But this song in my head

has a drumbeat to kill.

It runs through my days like a thread.

The world grows bright,

breathes sighs of relief.

Normal lives,

for some, are resumed.

‘Peace is declared,’ they have said.

The guns at the front, they are still.

But this song in my head

has a drumbeat to kill.

I yearn for some calm times ahead.

The loss is weighed

on balance sheets,

in lives.

But the ultimate price is unknown.

‘Peace is declared,’ they have said.

The guns at the front, they are still.

But this song in my head

has a drumbeat to kill.

Still, time will bring healing instead.

For all of those, from WW1 onwards, whose internal conflict continues, long after the battle has ended.