Colin F. Jones


Memory brings not the soldier back,
Prayers don’t bring famine to the worm,
Sorrow makes not vile death retract,
The dead do not heed our concern.
I must rest from this excessive introspection,
This morbid realm where war poets feast,
From the negativity of their reflection
Living in the bodies of the deceased.
Where the vanquished serve as slaves enrolled,
In building pedestals upon unsteady thought
Of veterans seeking warmth from cold,
To raise their flags o’er failed resorts…
Oh! I’m so tired of these lingering absurds,
Which fill the mind with endless gloomy words.