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Hartlepool Mail - World War 1 Poetry Competition



December by Lewis Parker aged 15 

On the dark morning of a December day,
The town of Hartlepool rests in sleep.

As the dark sky slowly warms
and the blue fades to pink.
But unnoticed by this peaceful town,
ships lay in wait
their silver cannons training in
to seal the small town's
Fate.

Hartlepool slowly rouses
awakened by a white flame,
a peculiar sight
which inspired fright
in those emerging from their daze.
The flames swallowed friends and family
slow enough
to stir from their sleep
on this worst of December dates.

8:00am this beast arrived
to set the town aflame
to see the houses crumble
and crush those who lay within.
For those trapped inside
the prison of wood and glass
their only hope to survive the day
was to let the most horrible of December days pass.


Detached by Lauren Howells aged 15

The barbarous bombshell smashed through,
my optimism for existence.
The victims sprinted, stumbled-escaped, or tried to.
Do they ever really escape?

I stand, unchanged.
I inhaled a sharp splurt of air and amongst the
smoke and debris,
I felt ambition sprint down my throat
it began to dance around my frame.
A picture appeared.
Perhaps through the terror, trauma and unknowing-
we should force our eyes shut - and hope.
An overlay replaced the battlefield that had swallowed out quaint
little
town. 

When despair immobilizes your hope,
when debris and fighting dismantles your reason for living
and not just your home,
remember there is something greater - a future.

As your heart swells and screams as you feel futile looking upon
the greave destruction and feel like your existence is meaningless -

Pause

Terror is temporary

Life is temporary.

We're blessed with the life we have
a bombardment of evil must not defeat us or our town
Grab my hand, young man - the bombardment has stopped.
Mourn the dead.
Pick up the broken pieces of our smashed up town.

Let's begin to glue the pieces together and try
and become a fruitful town again.