Uncharitable Peace
There’s no need to cry in your trenches, no need to lose hope.
You’re not shot down from the sky and your bravery won’t get published.
A slow flame kindles the sky. What are you doing out here? Are you nuts? Get
down to your trench. A voice orders and I obey. My voice, where is my voice
to register a dissent?
A priest on top of a grave
is stuttering on a line:
May your children live in your memory.
Now you get some sleep soldier;
tomorrow we’re launching a surprise attack.
Exactly where that voice came from I’m not sure.
Stars torment the night’s order.
A harsh wind’s blowing leaves in the air,
sole reminder we’re still in the Fall.
How could I know life’s so cruel?
I feel robbed of my right to avoid my birth.
You gave me no choice Pa.
You should have waited and asked my opinion first.
Brothers whose destiny are closely bounded
always act deferential toward me, why couldn’t you?
You threw my life away from inside and now they’re
doing it from the outside. Handcuffed to fate from cradle to grave.
Christian charity from one soul to another.
A blast knocks me off balance. Another ordinary day.
Get a grip soldier, the same voice thunders.
Here’s what I like to vomit. Honor, duty.
It takes so little to arrange your funeral here,
in perfectly arranged caskets, a quiet relief from
the rat-infested environment needing no obstacle,
chopping us in war’s blender.
Here we eat what we vomit.
A truckload of dumb soldiers reinforces my suspicion.
I do not belong in this stupid habitat. I stop
reaching out for my rifle.
Say, how long do I have before the firing squad?
Suddenly I’m suffering from unbearable freedom!
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