Hidden Memory Stack
By Tristin R
In a box they stay, hidden away, worn only on an important day.
Resting on my chest like a heart beating, pumping out: bravery, determination, courage – never fleeting.
What did my great-grandpa go through to ensure he came home?
Each piece of metal that he received, carries the fear, the pain that we can’t see.
Bloodstained horror, the fear, I look at his rewards and shed a tear.
He stayed strong, fought on, to ensure I could live on. I question, would I have belonged?
Hear that sound, the thumping of timely footsteps, ringing loud, like soldiers, we are marching through town.
Shared, heart of my family, from old hands to young, prized possessions passed down by some.
They will not tarnish, I keep them safe and sound. I will make him proud, an honour I have found.
Awarded for tremendous heroic acts, for these are my great-grandpa’s private, hidden memory stack.
Medals.
10 shiny war medals. Laurels like a star, shining achievements of one great soldier to the world.
They rest on my puffed out chest, stamped with an emblem that represents so much more, touching the centre of my heart’s core.
My heart smiles, but with the setting of the sun, they are hidden away for a while.
When they come out next Anzac Day, the dawn brings back my Grandpa’s love; to whom I pray.
Lest We Forget.
