War is greuling.
You are always on your toes.
One moment you're alive,
The next dead, like cement.
But, those who survive
Are only men who might die,
Carrying a burden of living.
War is like a ping pong ball,
Back and forth it goes, conflicted.
You can be amazed by something,
But you know you shouldn't,
Gaping at the awful majesty of combat
Or the aesthetic purity of moral indifference
War is about love and memory.
You can't take the easy route,
Through facing your death
You believe in your life.
Hearing stuff nobody should ever hear
But you trust your own story.
Death is almost so beautiful
That you never felt more at peace.
War is revealing.
You lose your sense of the definate
For the sake of uncertainty
And come home a platoon of believers.
This is a great poem. I like how you introduced what war is to the reader, and then you elaborated on it by using your own ideas and O'Briens. Loved reading this.
ReplyDeleteNice, yours flows a lot better then mine, I had a tricky time with it.
ReplyDeleteThis is a very good poem. It really captures how war contradicts itself. I especially like the line, "but those who survive are only men who might die."
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