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Time
Time is a sieve through
which everything slips
what once mattered
rendered meaningless
as our lifeblood drips
onto the clay creating
a muddy bog that in
our well worn boots
we wearily slog
like tired Tommies
in the trenches waiting
with bated breath
for the shrill sound
of the officer's whistle
to pierce the fusty
fetid air and send us
surging over the top in
a futile foray where we
will meet our final fate
that in our wasted youth
we failed to contemplate
Copyright ©
Angela Douglas
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