Sad whispers of the mo(u)rning…
Move him gently
Anything might rouse him now.
No prayers nor bells
Nor any voice of mourning.
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells,
And bugles calling.
I should die, I think.
His face bears a wrinkled smile of completeness.
From this heart: all evil shed away.
But his sights and sounds; dreams happy as day;
Is he so hard to stir? Was it for this
That he slept at all?
Did he sleep at all for this?
(Written in response to Writing Challenge 201: Found Poem. This is a kind of poetry composed of words and letters you’ve collected from elsewhere, and arranged in a way that it gives a different message. Our theme for this was “faces”, which I’ve used in two ways. One is the face of this person in my family that I saw yesterday. He is awake but he is not awake. He is just….there. Second is the face of the greater thing that leaves us all helpless before it. Nature, death, disease. Anything like that.
Our assignment also included the task of adding a chiasmus which is a reversal in lyrics. I invented one in the last line. Apart from that, the words of this poem have been taken from four random classical poems of English literature including Futility, Beautiful Old Age, The Soldier, and Anthem for Doomed Youth.)