*FENCES/}

don't look up just let them think

there's no place else you'd rather be in now

you can't turn back

because this road is all you'll ever have

Music saves our souls

If you let me I could, I'd show you how to build your fences

navigations are the fours lines of lyrics.
they are profile, entries, tagboard and links navigations respectively (from the top).

Saturday, March 8, 2008, 10:01 AM

I am going to share with you one of my favourite war poems by Wilfred Owen which emphasizes on the horrors and traumas that war can create. I liked the way he described the poem as it greatly depicts the effect of war as if he is in it, unlike most of his other poems, this illustrates the aftermath of world war 1, although he did not manage to survive it.
This is the realism of what war would bring.

If only this poem had come out during the Literature examinations...............................

~Disabled~
He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark,
And shivered in his ghastly suit of grey,Legless, sewn short at elbow.
Through the parkVoices of boys rang saddening like a hymn,
Voices of play and pleasure after day,
Till gathering sleep had mothered them from him.
About this time Town used to swing so gay
When glow-lamps budded in the light blue trees,
And girls glanced lovelier as the air grew dim,
-In the old times, before he threw away his knees.Now he will never feel again how slimGirls' waists are, or how warm their subtle hands.
All of them touch him like some queer disease.
There was an artist silly for his face,
For it was younger than his youth, last year.Now, he is old; his back will never brace;
He's lost his colour very far from here,
Poured it down shell-holes till the veins ran dry,And half his lifetime lapsed in the hot race
And leap of purple spurted from his thigh.
One time he liked a blood-smear down his leg
,After the matches, carried shoulder-high.It was after football, when he'd drunk a peg
,He thought he'd better join.-He wonders why.
Someone had said he'd look a god in kilts,That's why; and maybe, too, to please his Meg,Aye, that was it, to please the giddy jiltsHe asked to join. He didn't have to beg;
Smiling they wrote his lie: aged nineteen years.
Germans he scarcely thought of; all their guilt,And Austria's, did not move him.
And no fears Of Fear came yet.
He thought of jewelled hilts
For daggers in plaid socks; of smart salutes;
And care of arms; and leave; and pay arrears;
Esprit de corps; and hints for young recruits.
And soon, he was drafted out with drums and cheers.
Some cheered him home, but not as crowds cheer Goal.
Only a solemn man who brought him fruits
Thanked him; and then inquired about his soul.
Now, he will spend a few sick years in institutes,
And do what things the rules consider wise,And take whatever pity they may dole.
Tonight he noticed how the women's eyes
Passed from him to the strong men that were whole.
How cold and late it is!
Why don't they come And put him into bed?
Why don't they come?

~Wilfred Owen~

What are your opinions? Pls tag!!!
GTG. BB.