Twisted smoke from enemy lines fights through the sky like wire,
Unlike the wisps of smoke from chimneys in our pleasant land.
Knee deep in the mud of the trenches we prepare to fight and fire.
At home we plough and reap and the harvest fills our hands.
At home and here our flesh is soiled with the earth’s wet mud,
Yet here our hands and flesh are also caked in blood.
Men keep watch of No-Man’s Land, over the broken earth,
The land almost looking like the ploughed soil of the farm.
However here they scour and aim for movement of such worth
To waste a single bullet and hope out of it comes harm.
“Over the top”, that fateful command that the general cries,
And out of the trenches come the Tommies, the infantry arise.
The guns fire and blaze and bullets condemn another soul
The shells send soil flying and flailing limbs fall flat.
Bodies entwine together, thrown into roughly dug holes
And in the trenches blood pumps round bodies entering combat.
Is this what life has come to, the rapid progression of man?
These piles of men are sacrifices for several feet of land.
One of our tasks in English over the summer was to write a war poem and this is the result!
Thanks for reading and feedback is appreciated!