The Next War Is Here

 

Out there, we walked quite friendly up to death,

Sat down and ate beside him, cool and bland,

Asked of his health and shook him by the hand.

Recoiled in horror at his fetid breath.

Before the world went crazy, he was there,

We treated him as though he was a fly

Who we could swat away - and never die.

We were invincible, without a care.

 

Now we see the horror of his face,

We see the way he grasps to keep a hold,

We push away, demanding our own space.

The world is suddenly so dark and cold.

Death claims his realm of suspicion and fear.

Too late we see that our next war is here.

 

[opening 2 lines taken from 'The Next War' by Wilfred Owen]