Speaking: The Hero
I did not want to go.
They inducted me.
I did not want to die.
They called me yellow.
I tried to run away.
They courtmartialed me.
I did not shoot.
They said I had no guts.
I cried in pain.
They carried me to safety.
In safety I died.
They blew taps over me.
They crossed out my name
And buried me under a cross.
They made a speech in my home town.
I was unable to call them liars.
They said I gave my life.
I had struggled to keep it.
They said I set an example
I had tried to run.
They said they were proud of me.
I had been ashamed of them.
They said my mother should be proud.
My mother cried.
I wanted to live.
They called me a coward.
I died a coward.
They called me a hero.
by Felix Pollak
5 comments:
What a terrific poeme ! I posted too, but for the once who survived and therefore are no heros.
Wonderful poem and so true. Donna Nobis is also a great favourite of mine. We must all remember those who died, those who were bereaved, those who lived with injuries and all those who live with the awful memories of that day Wil.
I had never read this before Wil. I have to agree with The Weaver of Grass. There are some things that happen in our lives that are very difficult to express in words. This poem was very well said.
That is probably the closest to the truth for many but we tend to glorify wars and those devoured by them.
Will we ever learn?
Absolutely -- no all who die are heroes -- but 9/11 had its share.
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