The Draft - Poem by Iohannes Silvaticus
You are a man.
And for that,
You will shave, serve, and give two years.
Don't you feel
The immense pride and responsibility
Well up within you?
Quench your thirst for manhood
From this infinite spring of slaughter.
Feel the power emanate
From the cannon of gunpowder.
Stab that man across the state line!
Spear him like a pig on your bayonet!
You are a warrior for your country's sovereignty.
Fire that shell of mass destruction!
It is the egg of our humanity.
And as you march on to the pretense of honour,
The only song you sing is ricocheting bullets.
The only seeds that you will plant
Is lead into flesh gardens.
The war has not yet come,
But you are already singing.
The ground has not yet time to fallow,
But the seeds you are already sowing.
The time to die has not yet come,
But here we are preparing.
Comments about The Draft by Iohannes Silvaticus
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye