Monday, 20 July 2015

"A Bundle Of Bloody Rags."

     War is state terrorism inflicted on people in another country, war is the expansion of imperialism, and the defence of the power of the imperialists. In this insane capitalist system, war is also a massive creator of profit for a conglomeration of corporate interests. War is never in the interests of the ordinary people.

"A Bundle of Bloody Rags"

But twenty summer suns had past since his first breath
was drawn,
An upright, clean, and manly boy, with hope and vigour
Afresh each day, and in whose eyes the light of
knowledge shone---
But now a torn and bleeding thing it was I looked
As he in fearful torment lay beneath a ruined bridge,,
Where he had crawled on palsied knees that morn at
Vimy Ridge.
I saw him clutch the air and fall, I heard his awful shout,
A jagged piece of riven shell had torn his entrails out;
I knelt and whispered in his ear at that accursed place,
And painfully he turned his head and stared into my face;
His eyes were eyes of hunted brutes, his mouth had
gnawed the sand,
And at his ghastly wound in pain he clawed with frenzied
Although I knew his day of hope had changed to hopeless
I said, "Cheer up, old comrade, we will patch you up
Come, let me get you out of this"--He looked with
frightened eye,
And murmered, "Jim, don't touch me. Christ! O,
Christ, why don't i die?
Jim, Jim---you've got a bayonet there----if you have pity
Then send me west, old Jimmy, pal-----for God's sake,
Jimmy do"
Then a madness came upon him----it was madness that I 
For he cursed the one he loved the most, as madmen
always do,
I listened, for I loved him, though my body burned with 
When he with one despairing shriek pronounced his
mother's name;
I say with shame I listened, for I knew the boy of old,
And the love of kin was graven deep upon his heart of gold,
But now with hatred in his voice he screamed, "No dying
for you, you fiend in human form who shaped my soul 
for this;
Who fed my growing body in your lust-empoisoned 
And wove my mind with crooked lies upon a twisted
Who sent me here with honeyed words to slaughter or to
That you in empty pride might boast one hero in the 
"Heroes! God! more like are we the spawn of hellish
"Heroes! Piles of broken bones and heaps of bloody
Your handiwork, your devil's deed, for this you gave me 
Your contributio to the flames of this foul hell called
If you could see this---- this----
If----you----could----Oh! my God!----the----pain!"----- with
one mad scream he died.
I heard the rattle in his throat, and saw the yellow froth
Of death creep o'er his pallid lips, and bubble as in 
I wiped it off, and gentle closed each glazed wide-open
Then shook my fist in fierce revolt unto the callous sky,
And hurled damnation through the reek of the blood-
stricken sod
Unto the grinning ape that man has deignated God.
Oh! May I never live to watch another comrade die;
The bloody foam upon his mouth, the wild and staring
For never, if I live to be a hundred years or more,
Shall I forget that ghastly sight upon the field of war---
the gaping wound, the tortured look, and what to me 
was worse,
The hate demonical of that dying madman's curse.
I hear it still with horror,though indeed I allways knew
That he had cursed when most he loved, as madmen
always do.
John S. Clarke.  
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