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A medic

 

A medic

 

Poetry trembles before the shouts of war it is too subtle I hear church bells ringing I write in water mixed with tears gifts of the air & earth reflected in the fire poetry does not speak to the masses but inside the heart of each intoning lines when I was forced to do cadets as a kid I hated it men & older boys shouting at you & so I did what anyone who didn’t like it did, I became a medic & so when I write about war I write as a medic not a soldier people suffer beyond words & I cannot give them what they need I talk to them mainly offering white lies of better times because they die in my arms they die in agony it’s a mercy when finally they go because supplies aren’t coming through & world leaders don’t give a stuff coz they’re after land they’re after oil they’re after precious precious resources that make them greviously rich & so preventably they die that’s all I know of war & mothers wives husbands children & siblings are never the same & their children are never the same & the world is never the same while those who write poetry tell you it’s always been thus

 

Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2025.

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