Wednesday, November 3, 2010

The Silver Mirror

Tides turned, the enemy was on the run
Twelve killed with one toss
Mothers little soldier cries ceaselessly
Unable to wash the blood from his hands

Snap in trenches fucking wakey, hear that bell
Sniper rounds from shadowed quakey, blinded hell
Eating sand and feeling shakey, want my mom
Comrades life the devil takey, step on bomb

A mothers pride is not enough
To glue his fractured world view
Into something that resembles happiness
So many pieces, so little time

Eying childrens corpses smokey, raise the dead
Reasons fighting grimly hokey, lolling head
Insane logic kind of pokey, why be here
Your life my life such a jokey, can’t be queer

He is the one left standing with the silver mirror
The one that won’t break, a "God’s side" souvenir
And no matter how many times he tries to comb his hair
He will never shake the ugliness of war


  1. This is brilliant - a courageous use of black humour to draw attention to the plight on the unknown soldier. We never lose sight of your message. I love the internal and end rhyme: it really picks up the rhythm of the alternate stanzas. Last two lines are a punch to the gut.

  2. Holy cow, what an amazing write! Brings to mind all the soldiers coming home and fighting PTSD. You've done quite a job illustrating the aftereffects of war.

  3. This a vivid take on the after effects of war...a lot of the returning soldiers go to counselling, if not they kill themselves.

    Your pen is very sharp...gritty and chilling to the bones ~

    Cheers ~

  4. Seconding and thirding Kerry's words. This piece rocks.

  5. your refrains read like jumprope rhymes, and how apt, as we send our youth to war. wow.

  6. Oh my goodness! This unhinged me.

  7. Fantastic. Today I saw a preview of a film called Restrepo, which tells it like it is - what the young men go through in Afghanistan, being ordered to kill civilians, wondering how they will ever find a way to recover. Your poem hits it home so well. Important topic, great write, kiddo. My son in law suffers from PTSD from being a soldier. They dont get much help medically when they come back, basically are going it alone.

  8. rocking piece indeed.this edgy black humour with its acute vision is indeed a rare gift.

  9. marian got the bullseye. it sounds exactly like a jumprope rhyme. which puts me in the mind of ring around the rosie and kids playing to the tune of the black death... and the horror of everyday evil.
    venomous truth.

  10. I'm holding my four year old son in my arms (he fell asleep) and reading late at night these comments to your vividly chilling poem of war... Shawnacy's comment is great. Now I'm off to find a happy one before I go to bed :)