War Poem

I am sick.
My mates are sick.
Here we lay, dying.

We trudge through the trench and take our cover as the shells rained down on us.
It was like watching the end of time.
A picture of hell.
It looks like rain but it’s deadly rain.
Not blessed with ever lasting life.
The shattering sound of the shells was like thunder.
The shrill and shock of the attack did then stop and all became clear.

There standing shell shocked, a man was dying.
We must leave this sick heart.
For he will soon sleep a deep and dreamless sleep for all of time.
The blood was like the setting sun
Something that will never be forgotten.
Always weighing the hearts of all those present.

Whether they are killed by a shot, gas, illness or shells raining on them. Their body’s may decompose and turn to dust but they will sleep a peaceful sleep.
Never to be lost.
Never to be forgotten.

“We will remember them.”



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