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War, Is Unholy Hell

War is wicked rot and most holy hell
 man's evil is its murdering spell
Yet mankind never ever truly learns
 love and faith it arrogantly spurns

Poetry by the great Siegfried Sassoon
 glows like water under a full moon
Words poetically gifted that so saves
 sang again with poet Robert Graves

Friends they were that lived and fought
 a tragic war won with lives dearly bought!

Robert J.Lindley, 08-10-2014

Tribute to the great war poets- 
 Siegfried Sassoon
 Robert Graves
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A Letter Home
(To Robert Graves) 

I 

Here I'm sitting in the gloom 
Of my quiet attic room. 
France goes rolling all around, 
Fledged with forest May has crowned. 
And I puff my pipe, calm-hearted, 
Thinking how the fighting started, 
Wondering when we'll ever end it, 
Back to hell with Kaiser sent it, 
Gag the noise, pack up and go, 
Clockwork soldiers in a row. 
I've got better things to do 
Than to waste my time on you. 

II 

Robert, when I drowse to-night, 
Skirting lawns of sleep to chase 
Shifting dreams in mazy light, 
Somewhere then I'll see your face 
Turning back to bid me follow 
Where I wag my arms and hollo, 
Over hedges hasting after 
Crooked smile and baffling laughter, 
Running tireless, floating, leaping, 
Down your web-hung woods and valleys, 
Where the glowworm stars are peeping, 
Till I find you, quiet as stone 
On a hill-top all alone, 
Staring outward, gravely pondering 
Jumbled leagues of hillock-wandering. 

III 

You and I have walked together 
In the starving winter weather. 
We've been glad because we knew 
Time's too short and friends are few. 
We've been sad because we missed 
One whose yellow head was kissed 
By the gods, who thought about him 
Till they couldn't do without him. 
Now he's here again; I've been 
Soldier David dressed in green, 
Standing in a wood that swings 
To the madrigal he sings. 
He's come back, all mirth and glory, 
Like the prince in a fairy tory. 
Winter called him far away; 
Blossoms bring him home with May.

IV 

Well, I know you'll swear it's true 
That you found him decked in blue 
Striding up through morning-land 
With a cloud on either hand. 
Out in Wales, you'll say, he marches 
Arm-in-arm with aoks and larches; 
Hides all night in hilly nooks, 
Laughs at dawn in tumbling brooks. 
Yet, it's certain, here he teaches 
Outpost-schemes to groups of beeches. 
And I'm sure, as here I stand, 
That he shines through every land, 
That he sings in every place 
Where we're thinking of his face. 

V 

Robert, there's a war in France; 
Everywhere men bang and blunder, 
Sweat and swear and worship Chance, 
Creep and blink through cannon thunder. 
Rifles crack and bullets flick, 
Sing and hum like hornet-swarms. 
Bones are smashed and buried quick. 
Yet, through stunning battle storms, 
All the while I watch the spark 
Lit to guide me; for I know 
Dreams will triumph, though the dark 
Scowls above me where I go. 
You can hear me; you can mingle 
Radiant folly with my jingle. 
War's a joke for me and you 
While we know such dreams are true! 
  
by Siegfried Sassoon
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