The wheels on the wagon don’t work like they used to,
they’ve stopped turning around the axel.
Rust has collected between the hinges
of about the same shade his hair used to be
long ago
when the war began
and bombs fell from grey skies
as dust settled amongst the cries of the wounded.
Newspapers sang of the death toll
as she waited to see his name
buried among the obituaries
or for the day
she would stop receiving tattered letters
scrawled in cheap ink in his damaged handwriting.
They’re saying the war was unjustified,
she felt so too.
And she waited for him to come home,
and he did
one day, long ago
when all hope dissipated
from her azure eyes.
And she waits for him again now
at the side of the hospital bed
but the wheels on the wagon don’t work like they used to.
© Copyright Samantha Rose 2018
You can catch more of Samantha existing at her blog, Existential Poetry.
A stunning evocation of the eternal pain (and indeed futility) of war.
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Thank you, Chris! I’m so glad the message was conveyed!
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Oh Sam, this is amazing. As sb who has seen war’s brutality and stupidity, and who can well relate, I’m telling you, your words are disturbing and heavy.
Hats off to you, girl.
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Thank you, Bojana. That means a lot. War is indeed futile and devastating, and seems to do nothing but endlessly repeat itself.
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As a wise man once said, they are our failure as thinking animals.
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Agreed.
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Samatha, you have me hooked on your writing. I may have said it before, but you write in a style that appears so deceptively simple, but my god…it is woven with such complex perfection. Utterly amazing!
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Reblogged this on Existential Poetry.
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Reblogged this on Go Dog Go Café.
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Thank you for the reblog! ❤️
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a pleasure to highlight such good writing
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❤️❤️❤️
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So much raw heartache, such is the epitome of war.
Your words speak with much weight and power.🌹🌹
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Very true 💔 Thank you so much for your kind words!
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You’re welcome 😊
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