Saturday, October 1, 2011

Thoughts of a Dying Soldier


The sky is such a lovely shade of blue in early May
The clouds look soft and fluffy; I’ll be touching them today
I'm glad the grass I’m lying on is soft and emerald green
The color of the lawn in spring back home in Aberdeen

God, there was so much that I had hoped that I could do
But it looks as if today I will be meeting you
And all the things I’ve thought worth-while seem suddenly so small
I can’t help but smile to think we fuss ‘bout life at all

The only thing that matters is this moment now impending
The seeds that I have scattered will grow though life is ending
God, it is so little that man-kind will ever know
I'm glad that I am not afraid because You love me so

There’s a letter in my pocket, I suppose someone will find
And give to my beloved, ‘something that he left behind’
Sure would have loved to see her, touch her soft cheek just once more
God, what a useless, bloody hell on earth, this war

Above me now an eagle flies on her majestic flight
I will pass her in the skies as I fly Home tonight
She will fly to some tall tree and to her faithful nest
I’ll fly to eternity and my eternal rest

The sky is such a lovely shade of blue in early May
I wonder what they’re doing in my home-town today
I wish that I could see them all and hold their hands again
Oh God, in death there’s no enemy, we are all just men

Janet Martin

Inspired by the book: The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway

2 comments:

  1. This is truly lovely, Janet.

    I've just now recovered from your post of a couple of day ago to the point I can comment again. You have a way of cutting through my defenses and digging to my deepest emotions.

    “Thoughts of a Dying Soldier” is one of your best. It's been at least thirty years since I've read “The Sun Also Rises.” I may have to read it again if it inspired this poem.

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  2. Mike, that book begins and ends out on the mountains, with Hemingway describing the setting so vividly, it really did move me immensely. I've come to expect the not so perfect endings from him, but that is what makes it authentic, I guess.

    This poem was sort of what I imagined him to be thinking as he lay there dying...
    When I read a book I tend to read it slowly, and sort of live the characters:)

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