time for a poem

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“Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori” was through Hours in his Carmina, a hymn of praise that is still widely quoted today. However, fewer and fewer people today see this as desirable, although I am firmly convinced that it was already the case over 2 years ago.

However, those communities in which reason prevailed over responsibility for the community no longer exist today. And as we are witnessing, it is no different today and will continue to be so in the future. Because the very own personal interests of the majority of our population still ensure that promising solutions that could immediately reduce this old saying to absurdity have no chance of being implemented.

And so our societies continue to rely on generating enough “idiots” who still stand up for their “compatriots” today, precisely for those “compatriots” who do everything imaginable to ensure that it will continue to be that way - There is a system to the madness!

Things will only get worse if these “idiots” survive their missions, because then they will be held responsible for everything and the best they can hope for is that they get a piece of metal stuck to their chest before they are led back to the next slaughterhouse become.

Wilfred Owen, a British soldier, wrote the following poem as early as 1917. Whether he was exactly like far too many of the other “idiots” or, in the case that, one Donald Trump, the current icon of all conservatives, who went to war singing other “losers”, I don’t know. In any case, he himself died in France in 1918.

Dulce et Decorum est

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shot. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of disappointed shells that dropped behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! — An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime. —
Dim, through the misty pans and thick green light
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sorrows on innocent tongues, —
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria I died.

Wilfred Owen, 1917

Just today we learned that the Russian armed forces are now also using chemical weapons in Ukraine, probably to further expand their breakthroughs.

In the meantime, not only those who prevent Europe, those who delay Europe and those who understand Putin, but also the other warmongers and, above all, the war profiteers are slowly starting to think about where they are going to get the many “idiots” in our country who they will need for their successful system. One thing is as certain as the Amen in church: it won't be you or even your children! — they are there too Vladimir Putin and Donald Trump one opinion.


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