In A Foreign Field

Posted on September 16, 2014

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Trench Warfare in WWI

Picture courtesy of http://www.dailymail.co.uk


Mud spattered uniforms
cross a scarred land
Already obliterated by
war
Trenches criss-cross along
fields once green
Ripped apart by those
in defence of their lives
Who huddle deep,
away from speedy death

Keeping heads down

One soldier, new to
the fields
Sits shaken by all that
goes about
Bullets and bombs
resound
Screams and shouts
drift through the air
Followed by deathly
silence

Stillness

It seems like an
eternity
Before the silence is
broken
Then the madness of
humanity starts again
Bodies torn apart by
humankind’s ability to
Kill, maim and destroy;
what it does best

A bullet then strikes home

As a soldier looks over
the top
His head punched by
a single bullet
Knocking him back
to the waterlogged trench
His body soon trodden
under
The shooter firing
blindly

A lucky shot in the smoke of war

The battle rages
on
The field strewn with the
injured and the dead
Fighting in a living
hell
Wondering as months,
then years pass
What is it they
fought for

Whilst thousands go
unnamed
Buried in a foreign
field

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Posted in: Poetry