Dirge of War

It begins with little creeping pains that run across the breast. Good-bye, brother. I see your arm is withered and your lusts are dead. I did not think the end would come so soon. It has—good-bye.

In the night we remembered to believe in hell. Wide we threw the window to behold the fog. Men stumbled in the darkness—a cry arose—then came war.

Now, brother—let's ponder—say we draw apart. Woman come to fatherhood and the world upset. My little naked soldiers are playing on the floor. I strike and bid you go. If you go, all is gone.

There is a thing you must do—let's get back to that. You must strike out alone, get out of this room. You must go upon your journey. Don't stay here—now be gone—good-bye.

The gray and purple lesson of the night comes on. What we dare not face must now come home to us. Hear the guns—dull—in the night.

Back of us our fathers—let that go. Don't confuse us here—alone—with memories that can't stand—and run—in our night. I'll tell you what I want—be still.I want to creep and creep and lie face downward on the rim of hell. I want your breathing body to be torn from me. I want hell and guns to be stilled by the aching thrust of new things into life. I want death perfect and new love achieved. I want much.

Believe it or not I actually did run in the dusty hallways of my own life before this began. I went into the long empty halls, breathed the stale dust of all old things.

I knew and yet I did not know. That's what I want to say—by song and by the jarring note of song that cannot sing.

I was coming with America—dreaming with America—hoping with America—then war came.

I'm an aching old thing and the dream come true. I am sick with my last sickness here alone. I am creeping, creeping, creeping—in the night—in the halls. I am death—I am war—I am hate.

And that's all, brother. I dare not hope. The childishness has left me. I am dead. Over the fields a shriek—a cry. I pay my fare to hell—I die—I die.