Home » Poems » Michael Miers » Stalingrad

Stalingrad

the soldier.  the pretty city girl.

in a room of rust and patterned blood
cover
ash all in the riven air
ash of city, ash of sacrifice, ash of
soul

"I came here a soldier.  You have made a monster of me."

he told her, in a voice as
 cancerously black and lost as
  any stygian
       pit

frightened and quiet
she spread supine, naked, shaped, shaded
like gold

mortar shells screaming all around

digging holes

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Greg Gaul

Date: 12/18/2021 6:36:00 PM

So telling...you have made a monster of me. The eternal dance of man and war. A unique and clever crafting indeed.

Sam Toil

Date: 6/4/2015 2:51:00 AM

"War is hell", as Sherman said. And you depict that hell and the monsters it makes of all on the front lines. Killing and pillaging as they might. Stark, effective imagery of men gone mad with war.

Kp Nunez

Date: 5/26/2015 9:17:00 PM

This is heart-wrenching! The ugly repercussions of war...I haven't seen it from this perspective. We hear stories of war crimes and crimes committed against humanity and one is disgusted. Though not providing an excuse, your piece has somehow made it clear that one should not be so quick to judge. A 7 for this, Michael.