Desperation

The poem below is a pastiche of John McCrae's In Flanders Fields and Owen Wilson's Dulce et Decorum Est.

Desperation

The soldiers trudged

The weighing terror of expectation

Stark and ever-present.

The smells, the sounds – they betray

They mislead.

And outside

The world smolders

Filled with wreckage and…bodies –

Nightmares and trauma shivered into the young

Permanent, nonetheless.

Veterans bore it with a silent, pained eye, still they screamed

They screamed loud inside.

​

War makes the horrors spin and spin – 

Until you’re whirling too – all out of control, afraid to stop spinning

Otherwise the demons get close –

Who knows what new sins they bring?

Immutable terror.

​

And so they trudge.

Green grass, clear water

one turned burnt-color and bristling

The other, crimson-color and violent.

Echoing

In the desecration of beauty and in the pollution of serenity.

​

War makes the mind turn, distorting –

Until fear makes itself comfortable,

and you’re too afraid to let the doors open –

Who knows what might slither in?

​

Wet, shivering, pitiful, ugly

Visage and identity warped, from valor and honor

And glory and resilience

To desperation.

You speak out – branded as a coward.

You question – branded as a traitor.

You leave – branded as a deserter.

You stay – YOU DIE.

So you weigh – which one is worse.

That answer does not exist.

What else does war leave

But desperation?

~Spacebar

Feedback - 01

Feedback - 02