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Matt Hein / Poetry / Firefly /

Reality at a second glance.

Reality at a second glance. Written 04-17-03 By M. Aaron Hein.

Have you ever wondered how far the extent of war xan penetrate into one’s heart? I have for quite a long time, so decided to write a a small poem based on the horrors of World War I, primarily German Occupation. Anyway, I hope you find some value in it.

Now that I look at them
pictures of my compatriots,
their faces, worn, weathered,
bloodied, torn

lighter than feathers

I see the need to wish,
to look askance, through those scrapbooks,
to file through my memories

looking in futility for that second chance

I remember it so vividly now,
the acrid smell of gunpowder wafting about
the streets,
the air
the smoke,
such memories and pain to seemingly choke

All vivacity from myself,
my comrades,
whom were restricted to the proverbial trench,

to handle brass links, to
pull the trigger on

their lives,

in dirt,
in water water and fire, inundated,
drenched,
their hopes for life, to retire
exasperated

lacerated a knife of chance, serrated

the enemy advance,
sparks like fireflies through the air,

I could swear the night sky was bereft
of radiance,
from the moon,
air of pause.
Did my god, did Jesus, harness care?

Perhaps he did
maybe was,
just making a precedent of the the
human message of unjust cause

men fall to the ground and die,
like the autumn leaf they’re left to lie,
to fend for themselves against cold
and biting reality, to survive.

One said that truth is veracity,
it sets you free
and yet, I say to myself,
what a damned fallacy!

I see my comrades fleeing now,
from the treaded advance,
metallic, faded,
dreaded

and myself in the center of such a
fiery halo of smoke
holding a bleeding comrade
weighting my arms, my conscience awoke

perhaps this is true meaning?

that life’s scorn
or misguided ambition
only serves as a damned joke.

tails of munitions flying, gliding about,
sending nothing more about the enemy,
bayonets at shoulder, crying
their bloody battle shouts

such warmongers, yet I can only blame myself

I was the one whom followed
to pick up my rifle and follow my
comrades to hell,

but still, that’s considered honor, right?
to follow a country downhill?
that’s the meaning of integrity? To sacrifice,
to forsake, to become a martry still?

again, it makes no sense, but I did the honors,

I dropped my rifle, my bullets, my plans

and my last second, my prance

to escape such an onslaught and leave my
comrade to die, there amongst the sands

of resent

now why? I ask myself today?
I live in shame, or repent

with those tearful eyes

and can only wish for that second chance...

fin...

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