The painter of the war
The paint the artist used was blood
To cover up the pain they felt
Because when dried it looked like mud
Of the sodden trench where the soldiers knelt
The artist has a crowed they're showing
The gallery throng has come to swoon
At the kind lady ghost of Wilfred Owen
And the scarlet red of his crimson rooms
For blood the artist used their paint
To show the pain they covered up
Because they cried, they cried for saints
Or anyone, anything to interrupt
They cried and cried to make it stop
“Please don’t let me die where I’m sitting”
“Let me die at home, not here where I drop”
This is not sweet and fitting (dulce et decorum est)
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Author:
Andrew Charles Forrest (
Offline) - Published: May 17th, 2019 14:28
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 22
Offline)
Comments6
Humanity treated as cannon fodder and shot by their own for being human.
A lesson in disgrace.
Excellent powerful writing.
Thank you DA
Such a powerful write Andrew, so many lives lost for reasons they did not know.
Very powerful picture as well.
Thank you G
A strong searching write about the insanity of it all. Super work Andrew.
Thank you Michael
what a wanton wasteful loss and worse.. the futility of it all captured here so well and for all eternity........ Neville
Thank you Neville
My pleasure entirely Andrew, tis often a real treat to read your posts... N
A read that reaches the heart and brings tears for the fallen - you verse the futility so well Andrew;
Thank you Fay a compliment indeed from such a wordsmith
Your words painted the pain of past
Stories when heard one feels aghast
The cause then, still exists even now
Try as we must, we don't know how
Thanks S
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