A note on solemn war:
the charnel stench of all medals
the tide of tears through every marching song
the black scream blotted over the heads of orators
behind the scenes, the sound of creaking, higher into hysteria
the cold implacable murder in national anthems
the strait-jacket badge of cruel insanity in uniforms
the ferreting out and rewarding of childish aggression, bullying
vainglory, relentless hate
A note on solemn war:
the charnel stench of all medals.
August 17, 1945
*
I come from afar.
They tell me for a great mission.
They tell me to be a human being and an immortal soul.
My mother and my father told me that.
And all of my relatives and friends and the persons I met.
And all of the poets and sages in all of the books; and the great musicians.
They told me to give the world and to own it.
They told me the past didn't count and the present only a little.
But the future everything.
And they said prisons or castles
Or rags or velvet
Or crowds or alone,
I would be a human being and an immortal soul.
I come from afar.
On a great mission, they tell me;
And I tell this thing, friends, to you.
September 22, 1945