John Tipton: Chorus 1185-1222 (of Sophocles' Ajax)

where will it end
the count of the years wandering
the toll the statistics of missiles
in flight that fall
back to the ground
where a crater accuses?

better hurled into space
or into the crowd in Hell
than to be a bomb maker
& share your results
the Los Alamos boys
knew what they'd done

they ended the party
the glass is empty
the guests have gone
& the music has just stopped
now he lies awake in bed
alone, no one to hold him
still in his clothes
the bed soaked
his hair matted
he's got to forget

what sleeve slid back
to show the nightmares
where Ajax lay exposed?
demons crawled out of the dream
& ate him ate his soul
left his scattered remains on Greenland's
ten-thousand-year-thick sheet of ice
he's slowly melting
into the ocean
home calls to him