Memories

• Johann Rothe, Grade 5
• Poetry
• 2020

No retreat, that was what they told us.
The day we landed seems like centuries ago.
Thousands of men left behind,
Under the soil where the poppies grow.
Horrible memories grasping us pulling us down,
we gasp for breath.
Flooding through our minds, awake late at night
Consciously reliving the nightmare over and over.
Crack! Many mates fall to the hard rocky earth,
imitating the rain.
We wake up with realisation, it should have been me!
We cry.
Then we think of returning, the memory that changed us,
stepping off the boat as a whole new person
War changed me.