Read Poems by Paul Knight-Kirby

  

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Hundred Years Of War

I envy the dust, the way it moves all free and careless,
released from it’s sleeping state the thunderous pounds 
of late shelling, again endless 

Muffled shouting, through this trench confounding,

Mustard attack, gas mask aside fingers in fumbling fight, 
bitter cold winters night in a field
no fireside, food to bite
cigarettes to smoke, or mates for joke.

last one gone, two days ago up one minute then gone in a puff of smoke,
this place is beyond reality, it’s bloody insanity 
fighting for earth no mother walked no father built, 
If they want a fight then bring it to my hills,
 
Not this flat wasteland of mud, blood, bones, chills
We where thrown into this bloody war,

We wont have our say, like we've never had before
taken to the slaughter history will say, 
throwing ourselves in waves of waves of sacrificial lunacy again and again,

taken little ground this other trench looks bad, worse than ours 
doesn't looked heavily manned, looks like we lost more man,
What do we gain now? apart from more time in thought,

that withering bile of rotting feverish flesh, one part is fresh 
the other pure dread, captain is shouting, up on my legs 
what’s going on...conscious or dead?