. The Poet's Beat .

. The Poet's Beat .
"A working class citizen is apt to see this country for what it's worth... A miasma of interlocking variations on differing demographics and geographies unlike any other inhabited space in the world. The American Dream. The rolling footloose hills and the upstanding Apache badlands where criminals cut bread with priests and the children of Hollywood. I am no different. Yet I am still brazen enough to think that the world is a playground built by the rugged hands of a hard-working man in order that my fantasies be materialized." -- P.P. Vonnersdale

Monday, December 6, 2010

Lament for the Soldier

A simple soldier's tale - albeit dark and macabre. I wrote this when I was twenty-three and many of my friends were in or joining the military, and maybe I was feeling left out, or maybe the state of the war, even then, made me feel the lack of hope this poem seems to suggest...

The third day,
The fire cracker,
The pain,
My life rearranged,
A bullet through my vein.

A soldier,

Just like me,
His luck,
Now I’m fucked,
In the back of a medical truck.

The fifth day,

I’m going home,
The day ends in night,
No point to fight,
In war nothing’s right.

A medal,

Some words,
A slap,
Should I be happy on my back?
One leg I lack.

The second month,

A lonely house,
Questions still,
No answers to fill,
Each hour brings a new pill.

The first year,

The last day,
A different time,
This gun’s mine,
One more war crime.


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