Boy Soldiers, not Toy Soldiers
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
Wilfred Owen
He’s cuter than the photo that they show
So often, more a smiling kid and not
A solemn soldier or a poet, no
Shell-shattered eyes or mouth. These haven’t fought
In fields or slimy trenches drenched with gas,
A green too acrid for this boy to smell
(But he read Horace), chlorine that was crass
Enough to snuff blond chests. Smooth bodies fell
In battle, not beside him in his bed.
He specialized in loneliness’s breath.
God worked against his faithfulness to shred
Young decency. His only hope was death
Because he knew the truth. He breathed it in.
He knew that loving soldiers was his sin.
~ Phillip Whidden