The live men and the dead men march to war,
Their difference glimpsed by fate, yet all the same.
Those last far off goodbyes resonant
In proud and frightened minds that rise aflame,
But cannot contemplate their greatest dread
To come this way again with thoughts dark lead.
The spirits of the dead will march beside
An army living only for the day,
To lead them onto battle stricken soil
So they may guide tomorrow’s on their way,
Whose quarrels don’t extend to faceless souls,
Murder men they must, their conscience sold.
With quivered hands on guns they wait in line,
Pounding fear in every tunic’s breast,
So trench’s ridge gives way to evil pasture,
And ammunition flies on Satan’s quest.
As drums of glory beat out war’s self worth
The blood of nations' youth will join the earth.
To those lords who dwell past sanctuary’s gate
A soldier live or dead is just a corpse,
Shorn of will, imprisoned by a state
To fight a bloody war, their master’s cause.
Another thousand lie as twisted flesh
Ten hundred chits to fill then start afresh
© Teeming Universe 2008
6 comments:
Chilling stuff. You can almost hear the feet marching in the rythm of this one!
Powerful and dramatic words, Teeming. Wonderful rhythm.
Jon: I am currently researching my family history and I have been reading about WW1 as a result. It has really brought home the suffering and futility of war.
Thanks Vanilla, though I don't think I could ever quite imagine or portray the conditions that these people had to endure.
Poignant stuff, particularly in the light of the imminence of November 11th and all the images that conjures up. Sacrifice should be remembered and honoured, but the reality of war is truly unbearably horrific, especially WW1
Michelle
x
Michelle: Yes, to be in the trenches in WW1 must have been a truly appalling existence. I watched a TV programme the other day discussing the high number of soldiers who were sent over the top to their deaths on 11th November 1918, just to gain a few more yards, when it was known the war would end at the appointed time. You wonder what their leaders were thinking of. Hadn’t they seen enough?
This is just painfully descriptive. You are such an amzaing poet.
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