A found poem from the book "Generals Die in Bed" |
We do not speak, We feel we will promise anything Just to be spared. Spared the horror if being buried alive Spared the feeling of tons of earth; Falling upon us. Crushing our bones Beams shiver over our heads. The explosions keep coming Earth is falling from the ceiling. Suddenly; the bombardment stops Over as quickly as it began We clear the debris from the stairs; Thankful to be alive. What god is there as mighty as the fury of bombardment More terrible than lightning More cruel and calcualting than an earthquake? How will we ever be able to go back to peaceful ways? Hear pallid preachers whimper of puny gods. Gods who can only torment sinners with sulphur We have seen a hell that no god. However cruel, Would fashion for his most deadly enemies. Who can live through terror laden minutes Hearing nothing but drum-fire Who can live through that ordeal and not feel reason slip? Who can live through that ordeal and not feel his manhood dissolve? We all prayed during the manic frenzy of bombardment Selfish, fear-stricken prayers Prayers for safety; prayers for life; prayers for air Prayers for salvation from the death of being buried alive. At home they are praying as well They do not pray for the same things. They pray for victory while we pray for life And because they pray for victory We must lie here; Rotting and trembling forever. The debris is cleared away We climb to the top of the broken stairs, It is quiet and cool As though nothing has happened. |