Unbroken

• Hannah Sambell, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2019

There is a promise/Woven deep under ground/It twists through broken bones/Runs over shrapnel/And creeps up to the sunlight/As tiny spots of red in a black world.
That red is my blood/Soaked into the dirt/Alongside my brothers/Whose bodies lay beneath the ground/It makes mud, now long dried/By the sun.
The long stems/Guide blood-stained flowers/Each shiny petal/A memory stolen/Without a thought/A life no longer lived.
There is a promise/Held in the ruins of each town/It sings of love and happiness/Of all the joy sucked out of the world/In that single moment/Of fear and heartlessness.
Each shattered brick/Holds the remains of a life/A family/Who had to run away/With death snapping/At their heels.
It tells of the need for home,/A safe place to rest/The hatred of intruders/The longing for freedom/The need for peace/The dawn of a new day.
The promise shines/Down as the sun on/Gallipoli’s hills/It creeps up in the soil/Of the Somme/And devastated Fromelles.
It’s the soft patter of rain/On the shattered streets/Of broken Verdun/It’s the ghost of birds singing/Under the booming shells/At Passchendaele.
It whispers through the trees/In the mud of Kokoda/It urges them on in/The horror of Sandakan/It’s the waves, licking clean/Darwin’s bomb-shattered coast.
It’s a promise that’s murmured/Through the crowded hospitals/As nurse’s comfort/Minds forever wounded/Every step and breath of the angels/Of No Man’s land.
It is a promise/Held in the shattered hearts/of those who died/It speaks of sponge cake/Forever waiting on the bench top/For the son who never came home.
It speaks of an empty room/An old cricket bat/A vacant chair/By the fireplace/A crumpled gum leaf/Sent in a letter.
It is the longing for home/The promise of warmth/A mother’s hug/A father’s smile/A spouse’s kiss/A safe place to be held.
It’s a love of one’s nation/A love of sunburnt plains/Of waltzing matilda/Billy and swag/Replaced by a slouch-hat/And a gun.
It is a promise of mateship/You won’t be left behind/Ignored tears/Shared cigarettes/Letters read aloud/In flea-ridden trenches.

It is a promise/It still rings true/Although years have passed/And now I hand it on/To those who fight for justice/To those who strive for peace/To those who long for freedom/To everyone who loves, is loved/This is my promise/This is the ANZAC spirit