ALL THE SACRIFICES
TO ALL THE GODS
Mind your piece-mail fusillade, and take it on the
chin - this is not a moment too late to remember. The
cannons in the canyon are still counting their charges,
running hot metal, hot steel through every pace there
is. Some old soldiers are rattled on the line; a few
dead, some just hurt. It's like this before each battle.
-
The saddest place I've ever been is Arlington; and the
dumbest too. All those stupid soldiers, white-crossed by
their own black death arrayed along some erroneous
field where we're supposed to do them honor. On the
land of the opposition's leading General no less. War
booty. Land taken by force. A mansion and a landscape
stolen away by the victors. All the sacrifices to all the Gods,
every one of them ever made, amount to nothing in the face
of this. Dead soldiers are nothing but dead soldiers. Sorry.
-
I can take no solace from any of that : they're putrid, they
fought, and they died. Living by the sword is dying by the
sword in oh so many ways. Many of us, wounded live on.
They are best honored by being ignored.
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