(Irish UN position
Tonight, senses steeled against
the black sky, we listen for the warring
shadows. The storm is almost upon us.
Bursts of coloured tracer attack the hill,
bouncing over lost horizons.
Phosphorous lights explode,
illuminating battered landscapes of death.
Below the thunder they cower
in the dancing veil again and again.
They who do battle here, fear this night also.
But we who keep the middle ground will feel
the vibrations of their vengeance.
Our presence does not halt their conflict.
Braced against the fury, we don our blue
helmets, cursing, send prayers to mothers
a thousand miles away.
The ground trembles beneath our rising flares,
burning red against the moonless heavens,
“WE ARE HERE, WE ARE HERE.
FIRING CLOSE, FIRING CLOSE.”