This poem may be disturbing to some, whether or not they’ve seen war or have suffered the effects, either directly or indirectly, of Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Some of the language and wording in this poem has become less than polite or proper through the years due to our glorious evolution of language, but the sentiment remains the same.
I studied Wilfred Owen in college at Westfield State University. My professor was the soft-spoken, kind, and so brilliant, George Layng. Studying war poetry was a little uncomfortable for me at first for obvious reasons, but I opened my mind and offered my attention to the war poets who had suffered and were so bold and brave to speak of it before it was acceptable. The words hold still during this unsettling time on our sad, beautiful Earth.
I tried not to watch the news last night and social media was no better. It’s a new thing to have a war happening on our shared planet during a high-technology time. People are able to share from within the hell, and I selfishly don’t want to see it.
My mind is consumed now with all the people who are suffering, and also with the Russian people who are protesting this war. We’re all people and peace should be a given in life. It’s odd that depending on where you were born determines how much of it you get.
Prayers with the people of Ukraine.
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