Graphite on paper, Battlefield, by Dionne Louie, 2013.
As I step on to the battlefield, I attempt to block
the sensory information I receive. The anguish
and agony within the cries of downed comrades
drowned out only by the ever-increasing intensity
of incoming enemy mortar and small-arms fire.
The sight of fallen brothers obscured only by the
thickness of smoke and unsettled earth stemming
from a combination of explosives, shrapnel and
a human capacity for cruelty so vast it begets a
new form of inhumanity. The pain from prolonged
exposure to repetitive blasts of heat and concussive
reverberations eased only by the adrenaline surging
through my veins. As I enter my final moments of
life, I contemplate what unearthly forces could
have laid the foundation for such madness. I sought
after the privilege of fighting for my country, yet
as I lay here dying for the same entity, I think not
about the prestige and the medals. I think of the
poor souls not claimed, those left to simmer in a
world inclined to wipe out whole populations in a
timely fashion with synthetic diseases and falsely
labeled global and domestic threats. Today the war
ends for me, but humanity will carry on the battle.
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mixed tribez
Battle Field
Battlefield, read by Dionne Louie, 2013.
by Dionne Louie
mixed tribez
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