Do you hear that grey, metallic sound
droning its way across a Scottish sky?
Or the ear-bleeding screech of aluminium foilstrips:
war-time chaff diffusing your radar from pain?
A bottomless sigh from the deepest well of the soul.
A burning napalmed burst on the salt-wet cheeks of misplaced trust.
That’s the sound of the unforgivable being forgiven.
And is still unforgivable.
Our Hiroshimas and Nagasakis.
If only this were some silent epic
or black-chorused tragedy.
Some wise-cracking screwball comedy
or Sirk melodrama,
and not- A Slice Of Life.
And if you knew this unfilmable documentary
had no cameras, director or script
and every sound was pain,
you would not tell with such high zest
to children ardent for some desperate glory
the old lie: no animals were hurt in the making of this picture.
(Wilfred Owen sample taken from Dulce et Decorum Est)