Poem -- The Human Disgrace

The Human Disgrace

No one ever died of shame or of disgrace.

Entwined we sat.
“I’m sorry “, she said.
“What?  About what?”
“I can’t make everything better.”
“Everyone who deserves to be alive
Is sorry about that”, I said.

Who threw themselves prone, faces immersed,
Those were sent carrying God’s banner.
Nothing dainty about them.  
Nothing dainty about death.
In war dainty is insanity.

“There’s a barrel organ caroling across the golden street,
In the city as the sun sinks glittering and slow.
And the music’s not immortal, but the world has made it sweet
And enriched it with the sunset’s glow.”
Alfred’s annoying sentimentality,
When the burning instrumentality
Is enobled by the gilded memories
Of a clerical plurality who are bent upon fatality.

The mourning plaint is not the product of restraint.
Murder can be taught or bought,
If not delayed by a pause for thought.
From blinding passion to rending deed,
But not if heart or mind’s permitted to impede.

They’ve burned my home around me.
I’ve leveled theirs.
I’ve buried my son and daughter.
Then I have schooled theirs with slaughter,
And be damned their outraged stares.

No one ever died of shame or of disgrace.
What do they serve here for lunch, any way?
Now that we’ve liberated this accursed place.