The song of battle
is an angry hymn,
where life and death
are left to whim,
where glory's gained
and heroes made,
in fallow fields
they've scarlet paved.
So win the fight
and swift come home,
to gentler climes
war has not known,
to heal your wounds
and mend your minds,
but to never forget
those left behind.
So may peace await
our honored dead,
where we the living
may not yet tread.
i can't seem to gather appropriate words of admiration i feel for this work...oh that this could be spread to every family member ever touched by wars of then... and of now....posted in every military facility around the world...in every language.
these words so simply said had the power to render me speechless for a few seconds then a need to read again ...and again.
so many brave souls left behind...so many of us patriotically cheer them on when they leave... only to turn our eyes away in discomfort from those returning w/ un-healable wounds and minds never to be mended only camouflaged in thin normalcy
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,
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these words so simply said had the power to render me speechless for a few seconds then a need to read again ...and again.
so many brave souls left behind...so many of us patriotically cheer them on when they leave... only to turn our eyes away in discomfort from those returning w/ un-healable wounds and minds never to be mended only camouflaged in thin normalcy
thank you for this beatiful work