If, amongst the grey clouds lingering like spirits on this battlefield
You hear me call your name and raise my hand to you,
Pick up your shield but come not near expecting welcome.
in the sodden earth turned the colour of rust
you see my corpse
do not bend
But face about
and raise your own blade
to the forensic turmoil of your recall;
stand amongst the battle-scarred and with them bid the gods explain their whims;
that being done, tell the gods I fought but was found wanting -
not for them
but for you.
Frenchie almost 2 years ago
“Tell the gods I fought but was found wanting.” It is a grim writing but it reminds me of poets like Apollinaire or Rimbaud who wrote much about battlefields but the battlefields in some poems were a metaphor about desperate or rejected love. Well written, Drew. It appealed to the poet in me :-)
Neville Hunt almost 2 years ago
This is blood-draining. A wonderful piece from a creative craftsman.
Drew Martyn almost 2 years ago
Thank you both very much indeed :)
I haven't read much of the French poets, which is odd, because I love French writers, especially Georges Perec who utterly, totally and completely blows my mind :) I'm going to have check out Apollinaire and Rimbaud...