“I was a boy when i first realized that the fullest life livable was a poet’s”
“Speak through the earthquake, wind and fire,
O still small voice of calm.”
‘Elegy to Dunkirk’
Wilfred called Willie
born as a beginning, in 1933.
Raised in faith but tested,
by brutalities in which war is invested.
He fought to see the world change
determined by honor though young in age.
His eyes a poetic lens through which he saw strife,
his imaginative existence bent by the truths of a soldiers life.
His pain compressed to create raw verse,
poetry written in release from wars curse.
His poetry his therapy, used to help him cope.
The expression gave him solace, maybe even hope.
Bravery motivated him to see more than this hell
though times he cried out, drowned out by enemy shells
forcing him to face death crying out in an empty yell.
He saw death,
he saw pain,
he saw the folly of the inane,
no words were used in vain.
Yet all of it ended on November 11, Armistice Day
bells rang out as if to say
“its over!” how loud was that victory call
but mingled a message as bitter as gall.
Joy drowned out by the buzz of the doorbell.
Answered in hope, closed in pain.
“Mr.& Mrs. Owens we regret to inform you that your son, 2nd Lt, Wilfred Edward Salter Owen, 5th Bn. Manch. R, T.F., attd. 2nd Bn. was killed in action on 4th of November 1918.”
The poet who wrote of war hoping for release,
would die a week before peace.