The Aftermath (Considering Ecclesiastes)
- The School of Mankind (Considering Ecclesiastes)
- The Beam (Considering Ecclesiastes)
- Definitions of True Love (Considering Ecclesiastes)
- Work Forces (Considering Ecclesiastes)
- The Eternal Brow (Considering Ecclesiastes)
- Double Nines (Considering Ecclesiastes)
- Judgment of Fictitious Standards (Considering Ecclesiastes)
- The Kings and Queens of Dust (Considering Ecclesiastes)
- Winning Words (Considering Ecclesiastes)
- Until the Return (Considering Ecclesiastes)
- Flowers and Runners (Considering Ecclesiastes)
- Masters (Considering Ecclesiastes)
- Evil All (Considering Ecclesiastes)
- A Lesson (Considering Ecclesiastes)
- The Aftermath (Considering Ecclesiastes)
This is the evil in everything that happens under the sun: the same destiny overtakes all. The hearts of men, moreover, are full of evil and there is madness in their hearts while they live, and afterward they join the dead.
Ecclesiastes 9:3
The Aftermath
An officer
lies there softly
crying distress –
A
leaning
lieutenant.
The
crimson lawn
and widely
wounded
earth
displays his chaotic condition:
Much of the field is
decked with
the dying.
Corpse-white
faces face
wounded brothers.
They are all
smothered with
red decoration –
blood
and Autumn’s
leaves.
The delirious are also mired
in plasmatic profusions; they are
truly confounded,
they are drenched
and
drilled.
Witness their buckshot
bellies, O Lord,
sense their agony.
It had
to be –
this suffering.
Why do the living linger in
mortality so long –
longer than the dead?
Life makes
mankind to
meet madnesses.
Does this macabre
state not exist
for years?
We
searched
for a reason;
a reason to start
a trite,
trivial argument.
Now, in the aftermath
of battle,
cries awake.
There
are
pleas:
“Help!
Where’s my
leg?”
“I can’t feel my
face? I can’t
see anything!”
“I
need water!
I thirst. I thirst.”
So shriek the dying
on the bloody field
of battle –
they
are
poetic soldiers.
Breath-heavy
are they, and the
fear-stricken, courageous.
“Nonsense,
my man,
nonsense, nonsense;
what you say is
nonsense. Do not be
afraid,”
comforts
an
un-despairing,
sympathizing, and broken brother
breathing eerie
mists.
The
companion’s
guts grace grasses.
Upon
the
earth the wounded lie,
Softly they cry
on unforgiving
soil.
Sense these
dead
and
dying
mortals.
Latest posts by Ben Plunkett (see all)
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I love this one! The structure is so effective.