For Wilfred Owen
by scott from jail

I saw from the window, far into the valley
Mist entrenched, floating over the ruptured apple trees
Wide enough to border death, black and stinking smoke
A woman who, on narrowed straights and crookeds,

Came knocking with a desperate, calculated lie,
A withered hand of millenia, wretching -
Desolate, probably wrong, murderous, false -
"They - the Damned - demand it so"

She machinates to keep us there in Hell -
Nonsense spewed
Resonating slander to come -
And the trudging deathly valley now sings out:

"Corpses high of Jews and Poles
Stinking way to dead fame
The road of appeasement
That now buys death to who?!"

Copyright © 2011 - scott from jail
Published: 4/28/11   ·  Author's Page   ·  Next Poem