August 2014.

AuthorResnick, Philip
PositionPoem

August 2014 Do they still speak to us the silent dead, long commemorated in cenotaphs grown cold, or in this throwback to an earlier era morticians of centenaries seek to prolong, last gasp of a generation sinking into eternity's tomb? Who can stand shoulder to shoulder with them freezing in the trenches, or bear the repetitive stutter of shells bursting like hell-fire across the muddy fields while entrails give out and faces are fixed with the rigor mortis of the haunted? The war poets knew well how...

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