After Battle

After the fighting Comes not sudden peace, but weariness; A gloom no lighting Of little lamps of jest or speech unravels, But for the brain and body endless travels, Twisting and turning like the lovers hurled For punishment athwart the underworld, Twisting and turning and no respite sighting.

After the living Comes not relief, but a grey level gloom, When the heart beats as in a padded room With wild shapes moving— Silence imploring and from silence flying, Praying to life and all athirst for dying. Tearing lost dreams and for the torn dreams weeping, Fearing to wake, tumultuously sleeping.