Sometimes it takes a poet to fully describe reality. British 2nd Lt. Wilfred E.S. Owen MC (1893-1918), who was himself a victim of ‘shell shock’, wrote this poem while convalescing at a hospital at Craiglockhart in Scotland:
Who are these? Why sit they here in twilight?
Wherefore rock they, purgatorial shadows,
Drooping tongues from jaws that slob their relish,
Baring teeth that leer like skulls’ tongues wicked?
Stroke on stroke of pain, — but what slow panic,
Gouged these chasms round their fretted sockets?
Ever from their hair and through their hand palms
Misery swelters. Surely we have perished
Sleeping, and walk hell; but who these hellish?