Strawberry Fields Forever

January 20, 2011
By MelissaCaccamo SILVER, Burlington, Other
MelissaCaccamo SILVER, Burlington, Other
7 articles 0 photos 1 comment

Red spheres upon green
So thoughtfully arranged,
Like poppies row on row,
Tunnels my path to play
To run, gallop, frolic and yelp.
Happiness. The ecstasy of being a child.

Father worked the fields,
A precise harvest, work all year-round.
No rest, all stress, no time for him to play
He works like a Clydesdale, an animal bred for labour.
The ethic runs through his blood,
As red as his stained hands.
His back breaks, his head pounds.

Beyond the red fields
Where blood seeps from its very essence
The soldiers march, row on row.
The war awaits
As I play.

The years grow old, the war ceases.
My back breaks, my head pounds.
It’s my turn to work all year round
And have my own hands stained.
The soldiers are long buried
Row on row,
Beside my inheritance.
These strawberry fields forever

The author's comments:
Inspired by the works of Seamus Heaney.

This poem depicts the image of a child one day playing and enjoying their childhood, and the next day being forced into a life of working adulthood.
Heaney grew up watching the soldiers prepare for the Normandy invasion, which I'm sure would have had an effect on his outlook on life-it's enough to break a child's innocence pretty fast.

I alluded to John Lennon's writing of the Beatles' song "Strawberry Fields Forever" because he wrote it while exploring the theme of losing one's sanity and realizing that their entire life is unknown and they must begin to rediscover themselves.

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