Friday, July 6, 2007

Memento of World War II

that stirs men's hearts
with horror in the aftermath

Future wars are deadly
but not as real, as mud
and blood, and recognizances
in spirit.     I mean the end
we inherit.

As if we should
disport our senseless appetites
in rage, confiding passions
that could eat our hearts out:
a puritanic ecstasy!

This is me: the one who feared
and queered his fate
grotesquely losing what he ate
in nausea. Back when
men were men, in spite of wit
that blunted on the stones of accident.

What was meant by Ghandi when he prayed
for men to come as men in passive sort,
when blood smells blood?    The lip may sneer
until the debt is paid.        Odds are now laid.


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