Kokoda

Kokoda, seared
cruelly in my mind;
I am ashamed – God knows
I cried, blinded by tears,
by rampant hypocrisy, by egos
buoyed on the massed souls
of men sacrificed needlessly.

I am ashamed
that we waited until the last man
died before the truth was told, before
the feats of grand endeavour
were ever partially explained.

I am ashamed
I knew not of the pain endured,
or of the suffering, of the deceit,
of rank incompetence and
puerile nonsense practiced by
command not in the field.

I am ashamed
of the petty bureaucracy
which failed at the crucial
time of need, which later
denied these courageous
men their peace and glory.

I am ashamed
I knew not that story.
I would be a different man had I too
suffered under Blamey, had I endured
MacArthur’s baleful untruths, their
blatant aggrandising.

I am ashamed
we did not know; but I esteem
the men who survived to keep
a silent wake of argent truth alive
to this day, a monument of timeless
beauty, pure and respectful of their
comrade dead.
© I.D. Carswell 2006

For the Chocolate Soldiers