trench poetry, i think, is not exclusive to World War II.because if you've ever felt like you've been stuck forever somewhere harsh
with nothing to do but everything else for everyone else.
then hoping to get some rest after a shift--
but the bombing in the periphery goes on and you can't ever seem to get used to it.
maybe after a bottle or two it gets a little easier..
then either
a) BOOM. a metaphorical modern day artillery shell lands right in your lap. and you wonder why it had to be today. then you realize its today, because every other day it was someone else anyway.
OR
b) you wake up to the same things again, only with a hangover. then you tell yourself as you scrub the grime and dried blood from your shoes and helmet: i can get through this. i can, and after this war i'm gonna be a fucking hero.
In this case, not understanding what I mean may actually be a good thing.
So don't worry about it.
No comments:
Post a Comment