The Perpetual Guilt

Now, this poem, is the final one of mine, created for the war topic. It is the one I am most fond of, and the very first one I wrote, (for that project.) If my memory serves, though that is a rare occurence, I first start writing this piece in class time, with constant noise from all around me, and for once that was actually a help rather than a hindrance. Imagination, my dear readers, can take the help of many a stimulus, and it allowed me to imagine a noisy battlefield, where thought is as rare as peace. (A nice metaphor, which I may use later.) Of course, the poem below has nothing on noise, for I only used it as a basis to build my ideas upon. The poem you will see before you, if I can shut up enough to give you it, is under the general heading "Dramatic monologue" although with a few minor changes could quite likely become a narrative piece. One of the largest ideas that I gathered from the subject of war, is the typical one - loss. But what if there was to be a new spin? that such guilt, could cloud your senses? What if your feeling of loss, caused loss in itself? That's what "The Perpetual Guilt" is about. So without further ado, here goes. Enjoy.

The shells fall down around my head,
My comrade’s are fallen already dead.
The cowards, like geese, have already flown
Now, their true colours have been shown
And God himself has turned his back
And left us to this haunted black.
The black of the night,
Where the shadows of the past
Cling to our minds, and hold on fast.

My brother stands before me now
Anguish etched upon his brow
My tears flow freely, throughout this all
No one is left to hear them fall.
I try to block out dreams overworn
Dreams which cannot help a man to mourn.

The war is upon us!
Fight for your queen!
And then, the stuff of nightmares is seen.

My brother was before me, striving to a goal
Determined to destroy the ones with no soul
But he stopped and gave a startled cry
The sound of one about to die.
My fears each night had all came true
I stood frozen. What could I do?

I watched him fall.
I watched him stumble.
And then, so slow, I watched him tumble.

His pain is gone, I see that now
The hurt once etched upon his brow
One hand raised he beckons me near
Undying trust, I have no fear.
I do not feel the tear of skin,
The ache of cold, seeping in.

Ever-ready, my shell comes down
Reaching out, I grasp only air
My spirit leaves. My penance, fair.