The Last Laugh
BY WILFRED OWEN
‘O Jesus Christ! I’m hit,’ he said; and died. 
Whether he vainly cursed or prayed indeed,
                 The Bullets chirped—In vain, vain, vain! 
                 Machine-guns chuckled—Tut-tut! Tut-tut! 
                 And the Big Gun guffawed.

Another sighed,—‘O Mother,—mother,—Dad!’
Then smiled at nothing, childlike, being dead. 
                 And the lofty Shrapnel-cloud 
                 Leisurely gestured,—Fool!             
                 And the splinters spat, and tittered.

‘My Love!’ one moaned. Love-languid seemed his mood, 
Till slowly lowered, his whole face kissed the mud. 
                 And the Bayonets’ long teeth grinned;
                 Rabbles of Shells hooted and groaned;
                 And the Gas hissed.

The Last Laugh bu Wilfred Owen

(Please, no one take this personally! I just made it to fit my images. I don't hate people or school!)
Homecoming Poem
I finally get to go home, no longer stuck at school. 
I head for the trail. I always go home this way, 
Down the trail caked with dirt and fallen leaves; 
Toward the gigantic, sparkling river with sky blue water. 
It reminds me of wine dark seas, the type trim black ships sail on. 
The deep blue sea takes my mind off the prison they call school; 
Off those savage students with razor blade teeth. 
Those brutes are deaf to justice, blind to law, 
They put my fighting blood at the boil; 
And the teachers are all the same, just wrinkled hides of old men, 
And their critiques cut into my skin like cold steel knives.

A flood of tears pour down my face, 
As I continue my journey home down the worn trail. 
The trail covered in other people’s footprints, 
My face still soaked with tears. 
I pass quarried boulders sunk deep into the earth,
And bushes with colored berries ripe from the season, swelling sleek and dark. 
And along with tall leafy trees, with leaves as green as emeralds,
A single plant stands, lifeless and brown. 
A thundering sound like a stadium full of people applauding reaches my ears,
Then water comes into view. 
A stark crag looms where two streams enter the river,
And I realize with joy that I’m halfway home. 

My heart yearns for my home; 
For my comfy bed and glimmering golden throne; 
For my sanctuary from suffering. 
I am the king of my home, with an ever glowing gold crown. 
My home is not a large bustling city with buildings that touch the sky, 
Or with gracefully crafted monuments of stone. 
My home is a simple two story, brick and concrete house,
With a slanted shingled roof, but it’s home. 
Every day at school, I wish to be home with my family; 
Not there with people so odd. 
The kids’ hair is sleeked with oil, 
And their faces are always beaming. 
And their strange clothing is always either expensive designer clothing,
Made of the finest possible material,
Like a flaring sea blue shirt made of lustrous sea blue wool,
Or squalid rags, ripped and filthy, smeared with grime and soot.
After being held a hostage with such people,
Homecoming delights me. 

I continue down the river,
Past the sheer rock cliffs that shoot from the river to the sky,
And scale a steep rock face of the cliffs.
The journey home, past the clear blue river fills me with joy,
As I get closer to my modern day concrete castle, 
And I wonder if my family will be excited for my homecoming.
If they’ve prepared a juicy, well-cooked steak,
And a bowl of fat ripe berries for me to eat,
Or if they’ve prepared an arrangement of flowers,
Showered in colors of the rainbow.
I rest at a bench, glistening white,
Rubbed with glossy oil and made from an oak’s dark heart.
A big stag with high branching antlers crosses my path,
And I wonder if it could be a sign about my homecoming. 

My journey is almost over.
I pick up my well stitched leather bag and continue.
Enormous pines and oak trees loom darkly
At the end of the weathered, now stony trail.
I see my house in the distance,
And begin walking along the paved concrete road.
My tired skinny legs work to bring me to my family.
I reach the house at last, my long journey over,
And am met by a pungent blueberry smell,
From a flowering, fragrant bush in front of my house.
I kiss my driveway and enter my house,
Home at last.


Nick3