Poems
by Jerome Wilson
248
Where is my anger, and my will to march?
This threat for sure deserves a swift response,
But here I sit and slowly think this thought,
That every act in anger means more blood.
The greater glory then to turn away,
For fear that even valiant acts go wrong?
Revenge is not so sweet as we have heard,
And hard to see the evil from the good.
Yet clamor loud our marshals with their words,
(It swells small men to speak of vengeance large),
And rouse they choruses in warring cry,
"Our nation on, in victory or die."
Have we not learned the lessons of these years,
The more we fight, the more we shed our tears?
273
So strongly silent is the dawny light,
Its purple band paints grand the compass earth.
So unlike man who ever struts his might
With chatterings about his gloried worth.
If we in silence kept this warlike time,
Our cymbals racked, our beating sticks away;
Then we could hear the quiet force of rhyme,
And whispered truths, which have the most to say.
Instead, the captains of our nation dear
Command our fears to join their deaf'ning cry.
March on, my countrymen, they will make clear;
Be not afraid, for only others die.
A peaceful earth is one where quiet reigns,
Words spoke too loud can only promise pains.
