A Soldiers Tale

(A journey into the First World War) The trembled hand the twitching face. A desperate draw on cigarette looking for courage in a cordite breath. Huddled in mud protected by slime filled walls, these walls of Jericho shake crumbling into my fear. My tomb beckons another inspection. Buried alive under corrupted soil, a land lords greeting from the putrid remains of the tenants before. Did Mother give birth to me for this? The screams of the howitzer, Marching in footsteps, stamping it’s wrath, for fear of the dead rising. And we who are alive, that dare to look will see the face of death that hides within it’s light. A face I would gladly see, if bargain I could contemplate in exchange for silence, and the solitude of darkness. Where fear cannot go, where the cold become’s a welcome blanket for I wish this suffering to end To hear the guns, all seeking me to shred my guts with shrapnel scythe and amputations rip. To die with blood soaked ears punctured into silence for man’s aggression. This man placed here by another’s ambition to pay the price for no man’s land, The only thing that is really free, for dead men will not stop you from taking a soldier’s walk. Another draw on my cigarette, and a prayer from my anonymous conscience, trembles upon humanities lips. “Gives us this day our daily bread Though I do not forgive them For thine is the Kingdom And men will destroy thy glory Forever and ever Amen.”