To LUGNET HomepageTo LUGNET News HomepageTo LUGNET Guide Homepage
 Help on Searching
 
To LUGNET News Traffic PageSign In (Members)
 Matt Hein / Poetry / Liberation /

Treason to the apocryphal flag.

Treason to the apocryphal flag. Written 05-27-03 By M. Aaron Hein.

Have you ever wondered how one could live knowing they betrayed their fellow countrymen, their friends and allies, all in the name of the ‘common right’? During the 1950’s through the 70’s, many disgruntled and angered workers from communist Russia fled to the U.S for sporadic reasons ranging from tribulation to denied service and state prejudice, but they all had one thing in common, a wish for common democracy, freedom for the people. Such a wish of liberation from the shackles of the Red Flag led to a good deal of paid Federal Bureau of Investigation informants. The poem below illuminates on the attrocities one informant suffers after a military dissent, and his journey to escape persecution from ‘the worker’s paradise’.

The early afternoon approaching,
life seemed to me tiring, encroaching
out from service,
gone AWOL
my future, my honor had taken the short fall
several fortnights ago
I was forsworn
I had taken duty into hand,
to serve my country with deft honor
to awe allegiance to my superiors
and nothing more

or be buried in the desert sand

but what about life,
what about true liberty?
to be forced to take a gun and bullet,
go on a spree of barbarity?

I was forced into service to kill for bounty.
to disgrace peoples for funds, to fuel my
country’s prosperity!

maybe it was just my mood,
or maybe not just so soon,
I has taken too many swigs
of alcohol,
or lucky strikes, my favourite cigs

or maybe I was just depressed
fatigue ain’t so small

enough!

now don’t you just get me wrong
life centers not on this song

you take one day at a time, just
like the cigar’s puff,
either it’s too much or not enough
dammit look around you!

like the desert sand,
acrimonious to the eye, like fiery needles

some say life demands a guiding hand
what a bunch of nonsense, written out by weasels!
they consider force to be the law of the land

but what the hell do they know,
war policy at times emanates as
unfeasible!
unreasonable,
maybe not seasonable
pretty much contemptable
but surely not sensible!

so, here I stand amongst the wilderness,
amongst the shores of honor and apostasy

recognition has slid away, into the ponds
of history and despondency
even with a heavy rifle
chains of munitions slung across my shoulder
like leather
everything seems to be now as apocryphal
maybe this tribulation should not be weathered

peace seems reserved for some
who decide never to flee nor escape

maybe not, but it resides with the setting sun,
the silver moon over regions of solitude illuminates,
the landscape
like the wolf’s calm eye over the fields
I can see it beckoning from afar, a beautiful escape

but reality maintains a strong grip,
pulling myself,
back into the wilderness
aspirations of detachment seem so far off
clouded by an arboreal mist

shot with rounds
like fireflies amongst the night
it surely sounds
I’m forced into conflict with the
governmental right

Former allies now turned enemy
their altercation mandated to escape free
allegiance, seems so displaced to me
war is hell, like a bat, there’s no way to truely see

except for myself, my conscience,
a beacon of light against that turbulant sea
maybe now I can garner
the strength to find reprieve

to in some faith place my belief
in god

so I set off against the grain
trudging through those fields with
inherent, present pain,
across the wilderness, through brush,
stained
with blood,
no,
just perspiration
but even so, it’s just one lane
to converge

there’s no end to this road, or so I thought
to run away from your troubles and see
the trafic rush at you
so get out of the way, jump to the side
and just maybe

I’ve reached it now,
that place of liberation
or serenity

there’s no need for guns
or defense against the aggressor,
because I’ve found god and peace

or so I was lead to believe
but deceived

scattered like the feather,
dropped from the avian birds in the sky
alight with fire
plumes of crimson alight the countryside
to be lifted
from those angelic curators,
I thought to heaven I’d maybe fly

but I was a traitor
to the government
and to its enemy, I was a formidable ally

and so I left...
I dropped that gun
I went against the red and took
the democratic oath

but now I’m ahead
my former’s lost the war and conflict
gone
angst has left them divided and alone

but what about my wife, my child, those
who fell to the cause now...
life should owe them amenities
but they’re six feet under the soil
so in god’s arms I guess they’re free

cast on birds wings
on their outcasted feathers
make amends for me
to repeat this conflict
we should for these souls remember

life’s just too short
a broken tide within the jade sea or existence

fin...
Primary content in this document is © Matt Hein. All other text, images, or trademarks in this document are the intellectual property of their respective owners.


©2005 LUGNET. All rights reserved. - hosted by steinbruch.info GbR