A glorious peace, twinned with booming faith.
Stars of David hang in the night sky
After a golden sunset caresses the day to sleep.
The aftermath of the Great War lingers
countries clustered, count their pennies.
Up from the ashes emerges a German seraph,
A beacon of hope. Of goodness. Hitler.
An angel not, but a minion of the Devil,
Wielding the reins of Germany,
Corrupting eyes with his already corrupted. Ind,
Breathing life into his ideas of death
Marching seas of grey fill town squares,
Hung from the strings of the master puppeteer
Like a tumour, spreading across the breaking body of Europe
Her hanging stars ripped from their hooks and burned.
He couldn't stay there, twixt broken bones and minds.
He left for England. All he took was his faith.
Eluding patrolling eyes, and Hitler's thunder rumbling in the sky,
Stern and bow finally adrift for English shores.
Moored in Kent, he take the name for his own.
Not as a mask for his refugee face.
"British men for the British Army". So, British he became
And took to the skies to face the thunder he once fled.