The taste of fear is open, pure and red —
a lump of meat, it’s poppies lost and flown
from cries in mud, in trenches darkly bled.
We harvested our fear from fields we’d sown
with honey dripping from our leader’s’ tongue.
The scent of fear is blood and broken bones.
We fought with
fear tears and bled from cried with broken lungs,
we bulwarked, starved, believed it’s more than right,
to maim our foes, the newborns and their young
The sound of fear is sweat of starlit nights,
we waited as the forest grew inside,
it spread with rotting hands and ropes wound tight
around our necks the night we lost our pride
when life was soiled and all we knew had died.
This is a rework of a sonnet I wrote a while ago, I have chosen to use the Terza Rima rhymescheme with a rather subtle volta in the last couplet. I have watched so many documentaries on WWI and the horrors of the trenches so it sometimes feels like I have been and died in Verdun or Somme. The subject of war might be unusual for a sonnet, but in my view the form can be used for many topics beside passion and love.
Tonight we write sonnets at dVerse. The prompt will be used towards an upcoming book of forms, so if you want to have your poems published this is a great opportunity.
January 3, 2018