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Poems about war 

War


After the war –
I could never say “civil”
There is nothing civil about war-
We returned home to ruin and evil.

The walls that once bore witness
To our loves, now stand naked
like told dreams.
Above what was a rail
A frame hangs defiant,
Like an ill placed landmark
On this weary landscape of war.

True the frame hangs
But where is the picture?
Sure the wall stands
But where is the house?

How awfully wretched they stand,
these bleak harvests of war!
And the occupants of that absent picture,
Where are they now?
This minute of quiet rupture,

Yet the guns boom on
With new conflicts born
By the day

Lament of a promise 


How does one say love
In the land of Vultures?
Where good and evil are clear ground.

The blood that curdles
Curdles for nothing
The bones that stand
Stand in remembrance of mist.
These are a lost people.
They are killing each other
For yester crumbs
While the day fashions
A new mystery

They have rejoiced
Whose harvests are made fat.
But what unforeseen circumstances await them
What mortal man knows?

The despots hold sway
They have basked in an acquired immunity
From our guns.
They are burning the bushes today
For tomorrow’s deserts.
The trees fall, the sprouts whither
For latter famine.


For the love of gold
They slay brother,
And for all that blood
For all that perfidy
For all the intrigue
For all the greed and gold
How well have they fared?

The vultures have said
“What do we want with the Barber?”
But the one who fashioned all these
Has also set a limit for all things.

How far have they gone,
They who seek to out-run their shadows?

Before you spirits of the Living one
Before you spirits of the ancestors
We stand hungry and naked.
But tell me noble ancestors
Was it for this
That your spirits lie in the rye?
All this filth!
Was it for this
That He laid down His life?

 

 

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Whitesmoke

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