The Beast Of War

Regarding WW2, but indicative, I think, of war in general, its aftermath and the recurring horrors mankind can inflict upon ourselves. 

The Beast of War

1941

Before the war, Dad would snore
After his shift and a few beers
On the floor, on the couch
The big, lazy slouch

Mam would just roll her eyes
(Give him a sly dig)
Clootie pudding on the table ready
For when his eyes opened slow and steady

He never spoke of ‘The Great War’
Of which he had scars to bare
But sometimes his eyes would well
In remembrance of tales he’d never tell

When we enlisted (My brother and I)
His eyes welled once more
Mam bent her head down low
Less afraid to let tears flow

My Brother: ever eager to enlist
Had waited ’til I was of age
To him, it must have seemed forever
But we were always going to join together

1944

When I awoke in the room of white
Minus a leg, and a big Brother
I was drowsy in forgetful bliss
Not understanding the meaning of miss

Mam was holding my hand
Her tears, tributaries to a floored pool
I couldn’t even remember her name
But, I knew she was an angel
just the same

After the telegram, Dad had ‘fell’
To the bottom of a mineshaft
One Son missing, one killed in action
Mam always blamed him for his reaction

She passed away, some years later
A frail echo of herself
She: my crutch and my nurse
I: the chauffeur to her hearse

I carried on with bitterness and hate
Wallowing in self-pity & whiskey
A pathetic figure to ridicule
‘Behold! the one-legged fool!’

On dark nights of old shadows
My Brother’s bloody corpse would visit
He would do nothing but stand
My severed leg in his hands

You forgot this, Brother
is, perhaps, what he was saying
I’d left it somewhere on the beach
As he was shredded just out of reach

Requiem

I never got over the loss of my Brother
Or my Father, or my Mother
Never got over the loss of myself
My physical form, my mental health

In truth, I never left that sand
Where life and death rolled hand in hand
Where brothers fought
And fathers died
Where mankind found nowhere to hide

Our truest nature laid bare to see
The brave, the mad, the cowardly
Ablaze with mortar, bullets & fire
A spectacle of a funeral pyre

War, is a figment of the human mind
In those with power who stumble blind
Seduced & reduced by another’s ill actions
A recurring loop of eternal reaction

It not only destroys those who fight
Whole families suffer from its plight
No lessons are learnt from countless years
Of those who’ve cried a million tears

Epitaph

I am the rotting fruit of time
Dying on my withered vine
Forgotten and lost in dead end streets
An ill wind tugs my cardboard sheets

And, as I lie on cusp of death
Gasping in my final breath
I fear that deep within our core
Will forever lie
The Beast of War…

©️  Stephen W Atkinson 2021