Opus 29

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
This poem was inspired mainly by Frederic Chopin’s Impromptus Op 29: No. 1 in A-flat Major. You can find it easily on youtube if you’re interested. I would post it but I’m not sure if I’m allowed. It’s also inspired by my late grandfather to be honest. I use the word “Japs” because that was his language. A mix of fact, fiction, and speculation really. Just a hint if you read, don't try to find a constant verse where there isn't, it's not there on purpose. It's just for fun but sort of an experiment.

Submitted: January 03, 2012

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Submitted: January 03, 2012

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Opus 29

You were a young man once

And that was long ago.

You used to buck and punch

And live life awful slow.

But as you grew a teen,

Things picked up with a pace.

You didn’t think you green,

The women loved your face.

You ran around so bold

And played at every sport.

You drank scotch in the cold

And were king of the court.

With run of the town,

It was you and your boys;

With women so renown,

Because of all your ploys.

But then they hit the harbor,

Those Japs they hit it hard.

With no regard for life,

And dominating echoes.

Then the music stopped,

In the middle of the party.

You dropped your lady’s hand,

Your scotch glass dropped and shattered.

Your expression altered fast,

Something firmer was there now.

No one could put a finger on it.

The vague idea that life mattered.

At first they gave you shit,

Said whoever goes a fool.

Your family, they cried;

Your girl was on her knees.

One last snort of Scotch,

And then you’re off to check in.

One last look behind,

Their faces so surreal.

The training it is ghastly,

Their screaming in your ear.

Pushing your body to the limit,

But you don’t fucking care.

Now you’re on the boat

Kissing now your rifle.

The sickness has come on,

But the hatred, it is stronger.

You’re entering the East—

Mysticism, tyranny,

Are all you that you can see.

Hideous portraits of what these men did.

An island now in view,

Your brow is low and furled.

Your eyes exude a light

That will kill another.

You get off on the shore,

Your buddies by your side.

Japs spraying all the sand

With centimeter bullets.

The noise is loud

But you don’t hear.

Sprinting now

Adrenaline surging.

Men around you going down,

Flame and fire from the ground.

Eruptions of reality;

The portal to Hell yawns.

Satan smiles at you,

the blood gushes to your eyes

until they're black

And you see the Devil naked.

Blood and sweat and bullets

All are whirling in a cyclone.

Focus! Push it out,

Take aim and BLAM!

You got one Jap, BLAM!

Soon you’ll get another.

All the while your values,

Are they strong enough?

As you shoot and shoot

Things begin to fade.

Your vision becomes bleached

And then you are transported.

Peace time is now here

Do you know where you are sir?

You’re back in the states.

But what state are you in?

Go back to your girl

And bury all the pain.

Have a dozen Kids

And live life without shame.

Get a decent job

And save up lots of money.

Raise those kids with ire,

Control what may transpire.

You drink your share of scotch

As the years start flying by.

You hate any kind of death,

And scold us when we kill a fly.

Never speak of what you saw

As you grow so old.

The memory won’t thaw,

A mystery become.

In your oldest years

Your grandkids they will wonder,

What is with your fears,

And your attitude of plunder.

When your wife is gone,

You will hardly blink.

Is that O so wrong?

But you hardly think.

You live in denial

That one day you will fade

But it will only be a while

Till the grave digger and spade.

And then one day you die.

The scotch goes in the coffin.

Your shellshock none belie,

And no one can stop scoffin.

The church it makes me sick

As a pallbearer in pew,

It’s like a magic trick,

The priest says nothing true.

When you go in the ground,

There’s a military soldier.

Standing on your mound

Takes the flag and folds her.

His eye it has a tear,

He won’t look at me.

He never knew you dear,

Your wounds, how can he see?

Me, my eyes are dry

And it is all that I can do.

And I do not know why

I can hardly think of you.

Perhaps he knew you better,

Because that war, you were.

No thought could be worse

As you they do inter.


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