Orderly spaced headstones
gleam pristine in morning sun.
Blood stains and broken bodies,
beneath the verdant green.
Stilled smile in photo frame
clutched to breast each night.
Bereft widow lies in bed,
his voice only within her head.
Stanley, called to World War II,
assigned to stressful desk job.
Safe, his thankful family thought,
gentle soul far from battle.
But war destroys in different ways.
Pressure built. Commands grew harsh.
Time, country, lives at stake.
Stanley broke . . . mind imploded.
Other soldiers moved forward,
Stanley retreated inward.
Into the mind’s maze.
once in – no way out.
His world, one room. His eyes vacant.
No words. Only rare mutterings.
His way lost in the war,
once a brilliant mind, is where?
Weekly family visits
in his once was home.
Devoted family tried
tried to talk, to share.
You bring me to be with you
but Iamnot here
The cacophony of war –
in the silence we see.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets where today Bjorn asks us to consider the poetry of war.
My first thought when I read this prompt, was of Arlington Cemetery. And I thought of the hushed silence in that sacred space. And then I thought of my husband’s Uncle Stanley who came back from World War II a different person. I am of the mind that war is hell . . . no matter one’s role in it.
Image from Pixabay.com