December 19 1944
the last of our crew was on the line
the front lines, where poor eyes stared from the wooden planks
feet stuck like sticks in mud
waiting for the muscles to tense and be removed from the earth.
we all stare into the distance
looking for familiar or unfamiliar faces
we were nine while the others slept by my bag and rifle
ammo shells all over the floor
engraved in the dirt
we thought life would be over
we were the last on the lines while on the other side
the corpses lay, asleep with no signs of breath or warmth
i visioned this nightmare i lived
yesterdays fight
seeing our brothers fall like trees inn the forest
being the meat of last nights slaughter only now ready to ferment the soil we stand on now
across the no mans land all we hear is artillery shells screaming through the sky
while the victims below fell helplessly
we all held hands , prayed and wished and hoped
it all would be over soon
smooth and quick
this would be my last letter to you my dear
i hold your necklace dear to my heart
i pray i will make it home tomorrow
love sweetie
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment