Oblivion
Jason Kappel
War Poetry Contest 2010 (view all the winners)
Honorable Mention
a hundred mile thunderhead of dirt and heat
beats out a coded hymn that lusts
for oblivion; I am erased, this Wind unseats
the flesh, a speck of spittle
nameless and forgotten moment, unnoticed defeat.
Somewhere a woman abides, with mistaken beliefs,
that hope derives from memory and music.
Somewhere a historian—coward, a musician—effete
memorialize me, though I do not choose it.
I am nameless, forgotten, hysterically silent
I fought the fight that was there, I had no choice
but to scrabble and scratch and raise my fists
and stop a bullet at empire's request,
but this wind shows the rest:
little ants, little ant hills, murders and trysts,
all empty: for I am nameless, forgotten
in fits at first, then a tide of white oblivion
So it's a lie but why not? Give her a kiss
She'll carve your name and shroud you
in falsehoods, add you to a list, a list
of dust in dust, and what once was wet, leaves a spot of rust
a scratch, a notch, in some woman's nostalgia
So what? Every soldier was nameless at birth,
and is nameless now, a dried reed
that the meek make music on
praying that death delayed and hidden from
is a better one, is a better one, is a better one.
They'll pray it on their beads, but don't listen,
listen to me, a dead man's words are few ~
to remember me boys, forget me
and I won't remember you
I want no tomb nor litany
but while you live be true
and steal 2 drinks, then give out one
and call this toast: Oblivion
