Bring me the sunset in a cup...

Bring me the sunset in a cup

The sunrise in a flask
Let me drink away the hours
While I make sobriety a forlorn task
For sunsets can appear in cups
And bottles can store dreams
And darkness is my duvet
To blanket out the screams
Of shattered men in shrapneled trenches
Now replaced by cold park benches
Holding on by fingernails to
The familiarity of all those tenses

For I am just a memory
Now consigned to history
For we cannot touch the immediacy
Of Harry Patch and all his breed
So all that we can use to show
Our children now is poetry

Of sunsets in cups and bayonet lives
A patchwork of sentiment from words contrived.