{"id":897,"date":"2011-03-13T18:19:20","date_gmt":"2011-03-13T18:19:20","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/poemeveryday\/?p=897"},"modified":"2017-07-12T02:38:18","modified_gmt":"2017-07-12T02:38:18","slug":"exposure-by-wilfred-owen","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/poemeveryday\/exposure-by-wilfred-owen\/","title":{"rendered":"Exposure by Wilfred Owen"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Exposure<\/h1>\n

by Wilfred Owen<\/p>\n

I<\/p>\n

Our brains ache, in the merciless iced east winds that knife us . . .
\nWearied we keep awake because the night is silent . . .
\nLow drooping flares confuse our memory of the salient . . .
\nWorried by silence, sentries whisper, curious, nervous,
\nBut nothing happens.<\/p>\n

Watching, we hear the mad gusts tugging on the wire.
\nLike twitching agonies of men among its brambles.
\nNorthward incessantly, the flickering gunnery rumbles,
\nFar off, like a dull rumour of some other war.
\nWhat are we doing here?<\/p>\n

The poignant misery of dawn begins to grow . . .
\nWe only know war lasts, rain soaks, and clouds sag stormy.
\nDawn massing in the east her melancholy army
\nAttacks once more in ranks on shivering ranks of gray,
\nBut nothing happens.<\/p>\n

Sudden successive flights of bullets streak the silence.
\nLess deadly than the air that shudders black with snow,
\nWith sidelong flowing flakes that flock, pause and renew,
\nWe watch them wandering up and down the wind’s nonchalance,
\nBut nothing happens.<\/p>\n

II<\/p>\n

Pale flakes with lingering stealth come feeling for our faces?
\nWe cringe in holes, back on forgotten dreams, and stare, snow-dazed,
\nDeep into grassier ditches. So we drowse, sun-dozed,
\nLittered with blossoms trickling where the blackbird fusses.
\nIs it that we are dying?<\/p>\n

Slowly our ghosts drag home: glimpsing the sunk fires glozed
\nWith crusted dark-red jewels; crickets jingle there;
\nFor hours the innocent mice rejoice: the house is theirs;
\nShutters and doors all closed: on us the doors are closed?
\nWe turn back to our dying.<\/p>\n

Since we believe not otherwise can kind fires burn;
\nNow ever suns smile true on child, or field, or fruit.
\nFor God’s invincible spring our love is made afraid;
\nTherefore, not loath, we lie out here; therefore were born,
\nFor love of God seems dying.<\/p>\n

To-night, His frost will fasten on this mud and us,
\nShrivelling many hands and puckering foreheads crisp.
\nThe burying-party, picks and shovels in their shaking grasp,
\nPause over half-known faces. All their eyes are ice,
\nBut nothing happens.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Exposure by Wilfred Owen I Our brains ache, in the merciless iced east winds that knife us . . . Wearied we keep awake because the night is silent . . . Low drooping flares confuse our memory of the salient . . . Worried by silence, sentries whisper, curious, nervous, But nothing happens. Watching,…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_uf_show_specific_survey":0,"_uf_disable_surveys":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[84,426],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-897","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-1900s","category-war-poems"],"aioseo_notices":[],"aioseo_head":"\n\t\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t