Out of Trenches

Out of Trenches (WW1) Out of trenches, we met face to face, A young Soldier, probably about my age. With rifle in hand we quavered, My head, urging me to engage. Our tunics were muddied and damp, The ground soft and uneasy underfoot. Gun fire and screams in the distance, Torn faces, pitted and blackened like soot. Staring deeply, feeling pain for each other, Crying inwardly but shedding no tear. Silent, frozen, entranced and lost in time, Dear God, please take me away from here. I recall my Mother’s words, stay safe Son, Has his Mother would have said to him. Motionless and numb we stand, The situation is hopeless and grim. We stood there about sixty seconds, Though honestly it felt so much longer. Do I shoot first, or surrender and die, Am I the weaker, or am I the stronger? Rapid fire thoughts, pass through me, This battle is futile, no one can win. The Warlords sit safely in command, Gorging victory with bottles of Gin. Are you alright Smiffy, a voice shouts? A shot; the young soldier lies dead. With intense pain, I fall to my knees, It’s over now, a bullet hits my forehead. Standing by the gates as they open, The Young Soldier and I wait in line. Neither of us, could have shot the other, I was killed by his brother, and he by mine.