本文发表在 rolia.net 枫下论坛I am from beginning
Charles Edward Clarke
October 20,1897
I am from scattered memories
Of quiet streets
The shoe shop where I worked
The church where I believed
I am from rising up
Fighting
For my country
For God
For better futures
I am from letters
A touch of reality from mother
A bit of news on my sister and two brothers
And replies
In glossy details
And feigned optimism
I am from home
A cake mother sent in a parcel
Closing my eyes and trying to picture
Her face
I am from ruin
Razed landscapes; once serene
Mere skeletons; once sprouting life from its many fingers
And bodies
Glassy-eyed
By the thousands
I am from mud
A layer of filth
Anywhere
Everywhere
Versatile as dust
I am from devastation
Red rivers
Cries
Screams
Burning
Persistent haze
A metallic tinge
I am from my hiding place
Behind the gun
A barricade between me
And those who fell at my hands
I am from fear
For my life
For others
Fear of tomorrow
of nightmares
And reality
I am from friends
Who called me “Deacon”
Forced light-heartedness
Making jokes to push away thinking
I am from Vimy Ridge
Victory a price
One I and thousands of others paid
I am from disappearing
My facial features blurring together
A mere receding memory
I am from missing
A life I could have lived
A wife I could have loved
A child I could have raised
Instead
Here I lie
La Targette British Cemetery
My body and story
Fading to dust
I am from an end
19 years later
May 4, 1917更多精彩文章及讨论,请光临枫下论坛 rolia.net
Charles Edward Clarke
October 20,1897
I am from scattered memories
Of quiet streets
The shoe shop where I worked
The church where I believed
I am from rising up
Fighting
For my country
For God
For better futures
I am from letters
A touch of reality from mother
A bit of news on my sister and two brothers
And replies
In glossy details
And feigned optimism
I am from home
A cake mother sent in a parcel
Closing my eyes and trying to picture
Her face
I am from ruin
Razed landscapes; once serene
Mere skeletons; once sprouting life from its many fingers
And bodies
Glassy-eyed
By the thousands
I am from mud
A layer of filth
Anywhere
Everywhere
Versatile as dust
I am from devastation
Red rivers
Cries
Screams
Burning
Persistent haze
A metallic tinge
I am from my hiding place
Behind the gun
A barricade between me
And those who fell at my hands
I am from fear
For my life
For others
Fear of tomorrow
of nightmares
And reality
I am from friends
Who called me “Deacon”
Forced light-heartedness
Making jokes to push away thinking
I am from Vimy Ridge
Victory a price
One I and thousands of others paid
I am from disappearing
My facial features blurring together
A mere receding memory
I am from missing
A life I could have lived
A wife I could have loved
A child I could have raised
Instead
Here I lie
La Targette British Cemetery
My body and story
Fading to dust
I am from an end
19 years later
May 4, 1917更多精彩文章及讨论,请光临枫下论坛 rolia.net