On the frontline

• Harry Bartram, Grade 9
• Poetry
• 2005

Life is bleak on the frontline
Inside the bunkers dark and foul
And the young soldiers lie mauled and sublime

The bunks are treacherous, one man has already broken his spine
Our ears are dead from the machine gun’s howl
Life is bleak on the frontline

The splendour of the vibrant poppy in which the bloodstained wire is entwined
There is no fear on the commander’s face cloaked in a plasticine scowl
And the young soldiers lie mauled and sublime

My only wish is to come back alive and feel again the handle of the stein
Many have thought of throwing in the towel
Life is bleak on the frontline

Our time has come, time for our forces to combine
As the commander orders us to ready, his voice is just a growl
And the young soldiers lie mauled and sublime

As we ready I watch the sun sink behind the bloodstained and pockmarked white pine
One by one we emerge and charge in vain, they pick us off with the efficiency of an owl
Life is bleak on the frontline
And the young soldiers lie mauled and sublime