The ‘Old God’s Of War’ were on our side
that thunder-shaking evening.
Lightning cracked and splintered
the deep, navy blues
of the heavy-artillery skies.
Striking the left side
of the approaching Zeppelin
banking the furthest mountain
upon the horizon.
I’ve never heard a ‘Sonic Boom’ like it
and I am 97 year old this coming Spring.
Oranges, yellows and reds exploding
like the Devil’s own oil painting come to life.
The ashy, burning stench
sweeping down the Valley
like a billion bonfires siphoned together
and spat back out in disgust.
Then the rains came down proper,
dropping and hammering
like a Heavenly referee blowing his liquid whistle
and demanding some cosmic ‘Half-Time’
We withdrew to the ancient cave system
above the bomb-battered Town,
bayonet-heavy, exhilarated and humbled
in the shadows of something infinitely bigger
than the usually crass recourse of Man.