the war that raged
the war that raged
by john o’brien, jr.
My Lonely prison walls,
I put them up myself
but when I look behind me
I see only open spaces, broad green fields
of France
I read your lips
for your voice is too soft,
too musical
to distinguish the high notes
ringing
the porcupine disagrees
and the cloths of heaven tread upon my dreams
Did you hear the epic tale
of the war that raged
inside the man?
I am he.
The clash of joint against muscle
inflamed secretly.
Espionage against itself,
a traitor in our midst.
And his momma cries.
Sean nòs, my lady, Mother Garten’s Lullaby.
And Doyle plays the harp.
I would drink the Harp
But its’ nefarious chemicals agitate the beast
and so it goes.
No mellowing to the wicked
And no wicked to the mellowing.
I am he
Caught in two worlds, at home in none.
My Lonely prison walls.