I, War

Author's Note: This is a response to the prominent motif of beauty in tragedy throughout All Quiet on the Western Front. In addition, it addresses the pattern of soldiers going off to die for something they neither understand nor advocate, and the brainwashing their superiors force upon them in order to make them fight.

This is not meant to insult anyone who willingly fights for our country. It is merely what I felt the novel was trying to convey.

My heart is black, a freezing void,

space that has lost its stars.

I reach out with my strong embrace, folding men softly into my arms.

Young men, old men, those in between –

I care for naught but their light, pulling it gently toward me

compensating for my deficit. I take it, gifting them in return

showering them with beauty, glory, raining color down around their hearts.

It encircles them, becomes them, fuses their heart and mine into

one.

Together we are strong, courageous, valiant,

standing against all I deem flawed.

Of course, wrong is relative, is it not –

but Brother Death and I care not for such trivialities

Merely for that which feeds our desires.

After all, those men no longer care for anything but what we wish.

Why should we concern ourselves with

mortal wishes?