Oh, dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.
how sweet high honor
to kill for one’s state.
I wish a new honor for my collar.
Oh my ancestors so great,
die vater,
ma mère,
and for the Crowned State.
We have conquered,
with our many jack boots,
all those who faltered
and who will lose their rich roots.
Oh peasant people clinging,
to their land, their graves,
will fall to our might winning!
We will have honors to display.
We bring order,
wrap them in our colors
those who faltered. The border
will be held by our pillars.
Oh strong pillars for
die vater,
ma mère,
Boarders strong pillars Crown colors.
I wish for honor on my collar,
Not knowing I drink blood thick in dishonor.
Oh a war,
discussed so afar,
this so long ago
and none of us know warfare.
Oh little boys,
who think of gold laurels,
speaking of shameful generals.
For them, artillery are toys.
In a white classroom
Bright lights so sterile,
Discussing unending cannon boom.
Oh little boys,
do not know vile trench holes,
that look and feel a coffins walls,
guns that took, are collectable.
Oh a war,
remembered in poppies
in monuments at crossroads,
for it changed a world.
How can a tank be beautiful?
only when its destruction,
is unknown. Screams inaudible,
loss far over the century’s horizon.
Oh a war,
that spilled millions blood,
captures attention little boys
but whose horrors are near gone.
Blood that is tainted in dishonor,
Now blooms one poppy, for every
little boy killed for the lie proper
Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.
Roxanne Monaghan is a third year student at DePaul University, majoring in history and anthropology with a minor in American studies. She won an award for poetry from the Illinois Association of Teachers of English in 2020, and continues to write poetry in her spare time.