texts: The war pulled poetry out of some of us. Others it affected differently.  This is me a few years later.  We're in India, by the way, and it's 1921.  I was like many survivors. Lost souls with nothing left to believe in but gratification. We'd seen God fail, you see.  So many dead.  For us God, too, fell at Flanders.  We adjusted to the loss.  And if we mourned, we mourned in silence. Thousands drank themselves to death. Others went further.  I went further.  I thought I was a lost soul.  But, until this frozen moment, I didn't even know what the phrase meant.
labels: And what is ... this frozen moment?