Jesus Fucking Christ

I saw the cross raised above the horizon.

Rags of thoughtless bones slumped against the mounds were easily remembered and drawn by thoughtless drones.

Christ; every day, every fucking way and every fucking way the thieves seek salvation.

And the Bishops stare with greedy recognition of expectation.

Doomed; the feasting viewers unknown to their fate amongst thieves and rags and the corpse on the mound.

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World War I – Coward

I heard the news.

Like most people I felt sick with worry.

How could this be happening? I mean, really happening? Is everyone mad?

Like most people I wondered what it meant.

Like most people I felt regret.

 

Wait, one second. Does this mean…

I’m not sure about this,

I’m not sure I want to say how I think and feel about this.

I’m not sure,

This is a good idea,

A good decision, a good solution, and a good way of resolving things I can’t, maybe, control.

Or can I?

Maybe…

Maybe: I don’t want to face the guns. Maybe: I don’t feel “brave”. Maybe: I’m surviving. Maybe: I’m thinking of my children, or those I may father. Maybe: I think this wrong and I don’t want a part of it. Maybe: I don’t want to contribute…to this.

Some newspapers publicly hounded us. Those who dared to think different; questioning the meaning of what was printed and the purpose of willing sacrifice. We were publicly ridiculed as “cowards”.

Of course, there was always a journalist available to write about such cowardice.

Sadly some of my closest friends turned against me. They thought exactly what they felt based on a sensational view of the world written by someone who would never experience their position. They were provided for and “safe”.

They also died.

I wore a White Feather with pride because I asked questions that could not reasonably be answered with any logic suitable for humanity to progress.

Apparently, I was a coward.