How
can I explain the terror,
Or
the pounding that shook the world,
The
disorientation
The
smallness of me?
I
can only say
“The
War! The War!”
I
can't describe the numbing, the brokenness
Huddled
in my trench
Awaiting
the barrage of artillery
Creeping
across the blasted emptiness
That
separated the enemy and I,
I
can only cry:
“The
War! The War!”
I
can't make sense of the propaganda
In
suspicious tone and accent
Blaring
out across the plain
Ransacking
my certainty
And
filling me with doubt of my rightness
In
my cause
And
wondering at my own sanity
As
I simply whisper:
“The
War! The War!”
I
can't bear the loss
Of
all my comrades
Who
fell beside me
In
the trench, or
Defected
or
Were
granted leave or
Sent
to another posting,
As
I cowered in the familiar muck,
Driven
mad by the rats and fleas
In
doubt and shame
The
starvation of loneliness
The
vacuum of touch
And
the Cholera of despair
A
seemingly endless sentry duty in
“The
War! The War!”
I
dread the shame of reporting
The
failures after failures
Of
my tactics and campaigns,
As
I lost ground,
Fled,
broke, or lashed out at some
Phantom
enemy position,
Going
over the top, wildly
Desperately
dashing
Vulnerable
across open land
Toward
strength and entrenchment
Looking
the fool for my incompetence
In
battle in
”The
War! The War!”
I
can't bear the anguish, as
I
see the faces of those who stayed behind and
Made
lives and loves and grew into this world.
Who
found connection and meaning and joy and peace
while
I lost so many years in an arena which
Taught
me to speak a language they do not understand,
Far
away in
“The
War! The War!”
So
I talk of tyrants and butchers,
Majors,
Generals, and combat assaults,
Creeping
barrages, Enfilades,
Triage,
misery of cold and
Imminent
death and disfigurement.
The
devastation of divisions lost, routs,
Disease,
discomfort, and powerlessness,
Scars,
madness, and amputations,
Annihilation
of squads, platoons, companies,
Battalions,
A
terror so powerful every cell exploding
In
a different direction with each falling shell,
As
they speak of the same time --
Of
the same place --
In
a different language, and
With
different emotion and call it
“Family,
childhood, playing, growing, learning,
School,
first dates, jobs, houses, lovers, children, and
Optimism
of the future, while I can only
Mutter
dumbly:
“The
War! The War!”
And
now comes the dawn,
Comes
the early-born, rosy-fingered dawn,
And
now a strange silence,
The
last echoes of
Bombs
fading in the
Crisp
new morning
Bouncing
a diminishing
Repetition
around me
“It's
Over! It's Over!
The
War! The War!”
