We brave and impetuous stalwarts
Convinced of our own invulnerability
Stare, in our sullied rectitude,
At our shattered illusions and remnant corps
At those unsung presumptions
At those mute testaments to our ignominy
At those who were sufficient unto the day
We are stunned by sharp and sudden tragedy
By too much grief and pain
By too much violence, too often, too close
Prolonging our mourning into carelessness
Making us less by slow corrosion
Making us small by tacit undeniability
Making us empty by inevitable cruelty
Becoming mechanistic shells
A hollowness wrapped around by muscle and bone
Looking from eyes that gaze past beyond
Enduring whatever cannot be changed
Wanting a beneficial release
Knowing that innocence is lost
Knowing that ignorance is impossible
Knowing that relief is unattainable
Scowling as a defensive threat
Laughing to conceal our fear
Fortifying a diminished core
While our simple convictions got complicated
While our easy conclusions got harder
While our hard jobs got easier
While our complicated duties got simplified
We made our horrible adventures seem exciting
And we made our terrible memories fade
Until our once important possessions
And our once cherished souvenirs
Until our once valued documents
And our once esteemed martial tokens
Were as wasted as our pathetic bodies
Silently marking time
By the endless passage
Of dead men walking
Of ghosts on parade
Of corpses passing in review
Like sedatives arrayed in serried formations
Like cartridges arranged in glistening files
Perpetually marching to beat the band
Tramping in cadence
With outlived promises in proper order
Imagining a perfectly calm rest
Creating a sweet contentment
Inventing an everlasting peace
To counter that inexorable evil
That even companionship can't dispel
For this resignation might have come in victory
But a half-dead resolution is better than none
Sad, to be reduced to an inconvenience
So sad to have once been so young and proud
So terribly sad to have once been so foolish
Foolhardy to persistently dream
Of taking my place in those silent ranks
Of dead men walking
Walking silent
[nb: Silence walked beside them like the ghost of a dead
man — W. Somerset Maugham]
by Angus Argyll Kintyre
... who is a combat veteran, an engineer, and freelance
writer; with works published in professional journals and
literary magazines.
