In iron rain from rockets, limbs are torn
apart, consumed in thermobaric flares;
we hear a toddler calls for help; we mourn
as lookers-ons; we watch but do not dare
to intervene, to simply stand and ask
the teenage soldier why he must obey
and for whom he does his grizzly task
to murder infants, women, night and day.
will there later be rewards of pillage, rape
or just a pledge of going home, to meet
his girl, will he ever manage to escape
the weight of being wrong; how will he greet
himself to the eternal copper taste
forever followed, bound to guilt and traced?
Francisco Goy
Lisa hosts OLN at dVerse, at first I thought I thought I would abstain from writing today, but after some thinking, I thought I should at least try with one little sonnet.
March 3, 2022
Björn Rudbergs writings 
An interesting twist on the sonnet form, Bjorn, but powerfully executed. The imagery of what’s happening is horrifying from where I sit. From where you are, I can only imagine how much more immediate it feels.
I don’t want to ‘like’, but well written, Björn
Damn, brother, you write a muscular sonnet, rife with clenched fists and hard-set jaws. You pose questions that defy answers. The new “war” is just another chaotic excuse to kill more people. Covid and Trump and white supremacists were not enough. Muslim madmen wanting to regress to the middle ages was not enough. Now we have Putin, the KGB ferret, off the edge, dreaming sinister dreams of empire and power.
This is incredibly potent, Bjorn! Especially moved by; “we mourn as lookers-ons; we watch but do not dare to intervene, to simply stand and ask the teenage soldier why he must obey.” Sigh ..
The story of war, always the same.
A thermobaric sonnet, Bjorn. War is not always the same; when it was far away the volume of horrors was fitted with a silencer. You can hear the rape next door. The stain doesn’t come off.
This war is just a few borders away… and there is not even a faint reason when a nuclear powered nation attacks a democracy… this is just terror and murder (even though it can still get a lot worse)
This is utterly raw and so heartbreaking, yet I find myself in love with the imagery and brutal title!
Such mindless carnage exacts a karmic toll, you are so right, Bjorn.
When will we ever learn as humankind. Words fail me with this war. You expressed it so well Bjorn.
You’re right, Bjorn; it ISN’T war, it’s just brutal, unprovoked carnage, indiscriminate destruction, and terror instigated by one (of far too many) madmen.
Thanks for sharing your insightful sonnet.
The young are always condemned to do the dirty deeds of the old in war. The days when a leader actually led his troops are long gone…(K)
A timely and eloquent sonnet ,Bjorn.
Much of the horror of war happens after the soldiers return home and try to live with themselves. It isn’t pretty…as you so succinctly put it. Great title too, Bjorn.
So much destruction for the purpose of greed and power. How many lives will be enough? How many spirits broken that will never mend? How many ghosts will roam forever lost? sigh…wiping a tear..
There is no escape from the consequences of such a twisted coming of age. My heart goes out to all those who are suffering.
You capture the utter horror of the situation well, Putin is just a madman spreading his insanity and those that follow him will lose in the end. (praying the fire gets put out near the nukes tonight). 🙏
“how will he greet
himself to the eternal copper taste
forever followed, bound to guilt and traced?”
So many sides to the torture thay war is. Written from an excellent Björn
Thanks for dropping by my blog
Much love
rewards of pillage, rape
or just a pledge of going home, to meet
his girl, will he ever manage to escape
the weight of being wrong…….
Letting those words sink in………poets are the antidote war needs…..no words of mine need adding here………
You’ve said it all here–the horrors of war, the young soldiers who do the deeds, the rest of us who perish or look on. . .
Yes, those on both sides are doomed to be changed by the trauma. Well penned.
This is one of the puzzles of war that certainly haunts both the victims of war and those who inflict.
the weight of being wrong; how will he greet
himself to the eternal copper taste
forever followed, bound to guilt and traced?
Love the close. It puts to a finality how conscience can bother those
principled beings all their life.
Hank
According to any news reports, the troops who are expected to wipe out these populations didn’t even know they were going to war. I don’t know if I believe it or not. I know the one puppetmaster in charge is fully guilty but not about the rest of them.
And the world stands by trying to handle bloodthirsty greed and savagery at a distance and with civilized means…a very powerful sonnet, twisting its way into the heart with sorrow, pain and deep apprehension on its back. The feeling of being at a crossroads is inescapable.
“how will he greet
himself to the eternal copper taste
forever followed, bound to guilt and traced?”
Haunting thought that will haunt them forever.
Only following orders the soldier says.
tragedy writ large. I wonder how the Scandinavian countries look at Mother Bear’s actions on her other neighbors…