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Russell Harper Poem
In war, no glory confides absolutely.
Or is resolute in its righteousness.
Its essence holds no certainties nor goal...nor future.
Clear objectives fade... Justification merely a work in progress.
Clandestine agendas drive enmity across air, sea, sand and meadow.
Misdirected.
Towards an enemy, unseen in tradition and culture.
Unknown, but reassuringly dangerous, a hive, confronting and threatening civilisation...
In the name of humanity...
No epic fanfares grill the blood of Hollywood romanticists,
Corrupted stars play out their scenes alone,
Through haunting canons,
And anthems of resounding calibre,
Without script and with most terrifying action.
Out of depth, out of body, into quagmire.
Confusion, comforted only by sterile demands,
Hollow victories,
Fallen...then...
Turmoil.
Lies perpetuate.
Comrades congratulate. Celebrate!
Lending solace to advocate horror, between initiate and tormented alike.
Through the soft, sweet lulls of passive exchange or the emphatic silence of success,
Numbness cradles contemplation.
Enveloping.
A ritual, deep and staring...a piercing, twisting...
Stark realisation!
Past actions, past faces,
Passed lives...
Humanity.
Recoiling...sickening...putrefying...
Wallowing amongst the ranks of brothers and sisters,
Nourishing avarice,
Dwelling in 'diplomatic' palaces and stately hideaways.
Inflating egos and balances from the dividends of limbs and bowel.
The truth gnawing, knowing and growing....
Overwhelming.
Prolapse of mind.
Prizing an unworthy soul...only to abandon.
Copyright © Russell Harper | Year Posted 2015
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