Dawn, with cold steams rising from the saturated earth,
finds consciousness returning...finds the dead and dying ones.
Casting blindly outward, hear the sounds of misplaced mirth
upon the battlefield. Consider these, all someone's sons!
Regard with jaded vision what the gilded rays reveal:
choke back rising gorge. Take weary comfort from a breath.
Hand falls on hilt; reclaim the sword, wipe fine and tempered steel
clean upon the tattered cloak of one who rests in death.
Sit quietly...take tally. Do the numbers tell the tale?
Was there vict'ry, here? Do those who move about the field
wear the colors of the enemy? Regard the crimson gale.
The hue of blood disguises what the raiments worn would yield.
Listen as the truth is born upon you with a wrench,
and outcome is revealed to you in words upon the wind.
Hear, in your own tongue, the stifled curse, "My God! The stench!"
from those who turn the bodies, putting suffering to an end.
Then stagger up on legs that bleed from yet-unnumbered strikes.
Clutch clothing tight against the bitter chill, as you stand, shaken.
Join with your comrades, wearily abeying fond dislikes.
Once more, forget the blissful dreams of peace from which you waken.
© 2001 by eric lee
Author notes
If there's a single thing that all my lives have held in common, it seems to be war. Sometimes, it seems they all fade together, and all my selves become one soldier, all my wars one war, and all my mornings just one single morning of waking in the stinking aftermath of a battle.
Welcome to that morning!
Written September 19th, 2001
A contest entry
- Family Laments On All Wars Contest of ( past and present ) by ValleyOfEchoes.
500 points, ended December 28, 2005, 15 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What did you think
Comments
1 - 13 of 13
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You have captured the realities of war, finding the dead and the dying ones, so sad, so vey sad. Consider these all someones Sons, truer words could not be spoken by anyone, a harsh reality. Was there vict'ry here? The hue of blood disguises what the raiments worn would yield.
A truely devasting picture painted with words and blood, the reality of war, not glorification of mans inhumanity to man, an excellent write which portrays the truth. A very well written peice.
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This is a fine poem, a realization of the bitter truths of war. Strong imagery and simple, respectful language combine to present the horrors of the battlefield contrasted with the /blissful dreams of peace/. A true picture, without any of the sentimental evasions practised by those who still will not see the enemy as fellow humans, the poet laments the cost of war and the continuation of hatred and dehumanization throughout history.
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'finds consciousness returning...finds the dead and dying ones... Consider these, all someone's sons!'
'clean upon the tattered cloak of one who rests in death.' A rest in death, yes... It must have been hard.. to say the least.
'Do those who move about the field
wear the colors of the enemy?'
This was... disturbing. Sometimes I look back and think I've seen pain, but really.. I've not seen half of it.
You must be strong.. to still be here. What war was it? How did you survive it?
skitz
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In my "Author's Notes" I wrote
"If there's a single thing that all my lives have held in common, it seems to be war. Sometimes, it seems they all fade together, and all my selves become one soldier, all my wars one war, and all my mornings just one single morning of waking in the stinking aftermath of a battle.
Welcome to that morning!"
***
This wasn't some particular war, Skitz..this was a dream of *every* war. -
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Oh. I think I understand.
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One of the things that disgusts me about war is that it is the sourceof many of our racist terms; they're invented by Drill Sergeants in order that you can stare down your gunsights and see, not "someone's son" but a Kraut, a Gook, a Slope, a Raghead...young men grow up thinking of 'humans', and in order to kill the 'enemy', you have to somehow dehumanize him!
It's that or see a murderer in the mirror every morning.
The greatest sorrow is that so many of us bring these words home, and the hatred lives on, long after the war is over.
I sometimes wonder what words the Romans and Carpathians had for each other.
I had the advantage of a grandfather who'd been through it and realized what was being done. When I enlisted he told me what my instructors would try to do to my head, and told me "You don't gotta buy into that to stay sane, Son...all you gotta see at the other end of your rifle is a man who'll kill you if you don't kill him first.
You don't have to hate the enemy...you just have to stop 'im."
But he had years to bring me up and train me in his way of thinking; the service has eight weeks, average, to take a kid and make a killer. I guess they think they need to take the short road. -
Brings to mind the Kenneth Branaugh adaptation of Henry Vth. This is fine poetic imagery-about as good as it gets. I was surprised to find myself uncontrollably weeping at the battlefield of The Little Big Horn. Hollywood had made it all look so grand. Same thing when I saw the Ted Turner recreation of the clash of Feds and Rebs at the battle of The Little Round Top at Gettysburg. It is the killing of innocent civilians, the death of friends from "friendly fire", excrement spattered on you from a man blown apart, shooting a fellow soldier to put him out of his misery, your hand blown off from a grenade you have released to late. I would beg every young person: "Please don't to do this for me.?
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I have felt the pain, the agonizing, war travesties, amongst the soldiers that I have chatted with, the poem here has same fears, hurt and wishes, that so many hope for but reality of war sunk in.. thank you for writing, posting and most of all entering so that it can be reconized , as true valiant heroes.. again thank you good luck in the contest..Linda
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Amazing them of fantasy.
Extremely simple poem with a lot of backbone and power. Very well done, one of the best I've read in a long time. You also had the authors voice, something extremely hard to give a good write. I'm glad I came by and gave this a read, was well worth my time. Guten tag-- -
Powerfully visual poem. This is very well written, good luck
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Lots of visuals busting out in your poem
dericlee.
Good flow from top to bottom.
I wanted to join this contest, but was so
blank at the time, (ahem) me thinks I'm
still pretty blank, but hey I try.
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agreeing with chris here...I really felt like I was there. I could see a misty moor with soldiers on it and everything! beautifully described, I loved it. thank you for the entry!
-moonrider -
i could really feel like i was on the battle scene, though i have no idea, there were beautiful pictures painted here...i'm sure the images going through my head may be different from your views...i can only imagine it....a great write, very well depicted imagery...
peace
chris
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