On Monday 4th August, homes all over England turned off their lights from 10PM until 11PM.
11PM marked the centenary of declaration of war on Germany. WW1 had started.
During this candle vigil I was inspired to write. I had no agenda, no plan. I just wrote. This piece; excepting a few minor changes, is the result of an hour of remembrance.
During this candle vigil I was inspired to write. I had no agenda, no plan. I just wrote. This piece; excepting a few minor changes, is the result of an hour of remembrance.
By Candle, write.
I barely see what I write,
illumination scarce.
Coming and going at its own pace.
At time it's still,
tranquil,
in tune with the old beauty of this place.
At others,
the twitches of candle flames strobe shadows like the guns.
Only FEAR remains.
Glory isn't here,
not as promised.
"Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori"
I don't know these sentiments.
The light haunts me.
Friend? Foe?
Mortal, man.
What distinctions are lost at the turn of night.
I got here knowing,
knowing this was big.
No sign of end,
of safety.
Two years now.
Two years I live this way,
from mudhole to mudhole.
Shells have different meaning here,
home was beauty in shells.
here they are fear,
and salvation.
I go over the top tomorrow.
Too many fall this way,
but we're making ground.
I can hardly focus,
praying to a God I don't believe in,
to bless me and hold me safe.
SHADOWS
FEAR
Shapes of things I know,
change,
around me
shapes of death,
destruction, guns, bodies.
Friends, comrades,
brothers.
Men of valor falling aside,
no words can save them now.
They died, alone. In pain,
They died, alone. In pain,
and sorrow, no hope,
love.
Was it our mercy to slaughter?
Were we blessed to escape?
Could we be free in death?
No more blood, pain, FEAR
Lights Out
I can't see now. But must write.
Sanity is scarce.
Lost in history of terror.
When can I rest.
"Pay attention boys
Eyes front.
Ready, Ready, Ready. UP!'
More commands, these I know.
I know their meaning,
escape.
Time,
for the final, pain.
I don't want to die alone.
I think of home,
fond and ashamed,
could I return from this.
That life is gone.
Cannon, fodder.
I drift.
Empty and endless.
Tomorrow I write my own ending.
Tomorrow I write my own ending.
in Grace.