The cry of young men renders the air
as their feet claw the dark caked earth-
a mound to climb with a gun in their hand,
and the sun beating down from the sky.
A trembling fear their mind will suppress
as fingers hold tight to the notch-
heart beating fast as they wait the command
and the blare from the whistle rings out.
Guns rattle loud; screams pierce the earth
as shells rip at their feet,
on ‘No Man’s Land’ death stalks free,
in the form of a man’s bayonet.
Bodies fall, sweeping the earth
in the clatter of fast turning guns -
fear speeds their steps as they falteringly
surge – to the horizon’s mirage of death.
The enemy in front -
bellow -
all around -
mates twisted and mauled -
this blood sodden ground welcomes young men,
kissing their once moving lips.
Soldier of war,
whatever your rank in this ‘muck’
of hell’s baying nest, our ‘lot’ is the same -
the pain and the shame
of a life twisted by fate.