Resurrection

Soldiers in a mass grave 1916 By Hermann Rex (1884-1937)

Resurrection

When he came back no fanfare was sounded
The heads turned away, or just stared straight past
the shambling figure missing eyesight and limbs
a gift of warfare; from the bombs and gas
that fizzed and hissed and thudded and pounded
and arced like bright rainbows and sang like hymns

That Friday dawned just like any other
in the stink and mud they slogged to the line
they stood no chance; they were sacrificed lambs
who were nailed to their cross; a mandate divine
to brother lying in death with brother
that cursed the living and howled with the damned

He died on that Friday; they brought him back
and he lay in bed a year and two days
He limped from his sick bed and dimly saw
the people they died for; so drab and gray
hiding behind the old Union Jack
that flew in false pride as we fought its war

The church was near full that Easter Sunday
when he hobbled back to his silent town
but he could not pass through those hallowed doors
where the statue shone with its holy crown
of thorns; He turned his damaged eyes away
and left there to fight his own private war

Tim Fellows Easter 2018

Untitled by Willy Jaeckel [Public domain]

For those interested, here are three drafts. The final version was switched to 3rd person on the suggestion of Ian Parks and after a day or two of reading and re-reading I decided it was more appropriate.

Original

When I came back no fanfare was sounded

The heads turned away, or just stared straight past

the shambling figure missing eyesight and limbs

a gift of warfare; from the bombs and gas

that fizzed and hissed and thudded and pounded

and arced like bright rainbows and sang like hymns

That Friday came just like any other

in the stink and mud we slogged to the line

we stood no chance; we were sacrificed lambs

who were nailed to our cross; a portent divine

where brother lay in death with his brother

and the news was relayed through telegrams

I died on that Friday; they brought me back

and I lay in bed a year and two days

I limped from the hospital where I saw

the people I fought for were drab and grey

hiding behind the old Union Jack

that flew in false pride as we fought its war

The church was near full that Easter Sunday

when I hobbled back to my silent town

but I could not go through those wooden doors

where the statue shone with its holy crown

of thorns; I turned my damaged eyes away

and left there to fight my own private war


Draft #1

When I came back home no fanfare sounded

The heads turned away, or just stared straight past

the shambling figure missing eyesight and limbs

a gift of warfare from the bombs and gas

that fizzed and hissed and thudded and pounded

and arced like bright rainbows and sang like hymns

That Friday dawned just like any other

in the stink and mud we slogged to the line

we stood no chance; we were sacrificed lambs

who were nailed to our cross; a mandate divine

for brother met in death with his brother

that cursed the living and howled with the damned

I died on that Friday; they brought me back

and I hid my soul a year and two days

I limped from my sick bed and dimly saw

the people they died for; so drab and grey,

hiding behind the old Union Jack

that flew in false pride as we fought its war

The church was near full that Easter Sunday

when I hobbled back to my silent town

but I could not pass through those hallowed doors

where the statue shone with its holy crown

of thorns; I turned my damaged eyes away

and departed to fight a private war

Draft #2

When I came back no fanfare was sounded
The heads turned away, or just stared straight past
the shambling figure missing eyesight and limbs
a gift of warfare; from the bombs and gas
that fizzed and hissed and thudded and pounded
and arced like bright rainbows and sang like hymns

That Friday dawned just like any other
in the stink and mud we slogged to the line
we stood no chance; we were sacrificed lambs
who were nailed to our cross; a mandate divine
for brother met in death with his brother
that cursed the living and howled with the damned

I died on that Friday; they brought me back
and I lay in bed a year and two days
I limped from my sick bed and dimly saw
the people they died for were drab and gray
hiding behind the old Union Jack
that flew in false pride as we fought its war

The church was near full that Easter Sunday
when I hobbled back to my silent town
but I could not pass through those hallowed doors
where the statue shone with its holy crown
of thorns; I turned my damaged eyes away
and left to fight my own private war