Hundred Years of War

• Posted by: Paul Knight-Kirby
• Created: July 26, 2015
• 0

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 nor father built.
 
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 but 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?

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