CONSECRATED RUBBLE: A NEW WORLD WAR 1 POEM...

Consecrated Rubble...

(a World War 1 poem)

Relieved, finally

We moved back stealthily,

With considerable relief,

If somewhat tentatively,

Cynically and painstakingly,

Cursing whatever injuries, infections,

Sores, itches, or imperfections

Our time in the front line trenches

Had deemed necessary to inflict,

Short of a criminal yet foreseen death

That war had seemed certain to predict…

Deceived constantly,

We retreated disbelievingly,

With appreciable grief,

If somewhat cautiously,

Warily and incomprehensibly,

Nursing whatever wounds, questions,

Losses, pains and inflictions

The time in front line trenches

Had seemed mercenary to wreak,

Short of a fey memorial wreath

That war had deemed presumptuous to seek… 

And then we stopped amidst the rubble of a church,

Shelled to destruction,

As shattered as my own faith, 

For the hate felt was beyond any redemption.

Amongst the ruins I deigned to search

For any sign of salvation,

But its once perfect peace was a mere wraith

And it lay crumpled in its own dysfunction.   

Its lost sanctity I could only besmirch

And it wreaked of putrefaction;

Thus I turned my back upon a righteous path,

Offering my fate to Germany’s strafing action…

Pete Ray

5th January 2021

A loss of faith.

The hell of trench warfare during World War One and the passing of a bombed out church en route to a rest period, where an infantryman looked for some kind of salvation…

He found none.

He would die a week later.

Fate decided that he would…