1943

Shallow gray walls and dim lights

Give way to the pains of nostalgia.

So sour and satisfying

Are the vivid visions

That scramble around

Your sweating head,

Their eternal chase one of

Incompletion.

You sit in silence.

Your will in your mind

And none can bring order

To your thoughts.

A soul who too often

Cannot free that

Feeble wisp of hope

From the strings of the past.

Because a war

Does rage and you

Lost and lose

Friends to booze and

Hand-Grenades.

And that girl you loved

Yes,

The one whose eyes were

Olympus-bound

And whose heart was yours.

The girl who read your poems

A thousand times over

Just to hear you say

‘I love you.’

Now she is gone and in her place

A song

Like a funeral bell

For the soul you lost,

So you know you lost

That fight.

Good never wins

You’ll tell them that

Satan does his dance on those

Who hope.

Hope.

They told you that in 1943

When boots and ammunition

Clanked and clicked on

Bloodied ground with

Friends around,

But only for a second.

Hope.

In spite of death

And screams

And war machines

You better hope

You have a place to call

Your home.

A place to die for.

When those friends are

Holding onto your

Own calloused hands and you

Feel their life

Feel it drain away and every

Word brings vile and blood as

Your comrade

Tells you

To tell his mother

He lives on

In her.

And his lips are so dry and red

And his words the same octave

As the rumbling bombs

That you cry for

Two different reasons.

When the men who shed their

Pious and their blood

Who called you ‘Brother’

And toasted your health

And shared his secrets,

Are sharing the ground with

His enemies,

Knowing in death

There are only friends.

So now you sit in that

Dimly lit room.

It’s 1982

And you haven’t

Washed your hands,

Their blood is on your hands.

And the home they told you to

Defend

Is not as thankful

As you remember.

Because the Hope they gave you

Lasted only as long

As the war

And the memories lasted longer.

And so you sit.

In 1943,

Once more.