The whistle blows
Over we go
Heads bowed down
Bodies low
Rifles forward
Don’t look up
One more step
You’re still in luck
Bullets fly
All around
Bodies fall
Without a sound
Not a scream
Just a jolt
Legs give way
A sudden halt
Shells explode
Thud, thud, thud
On my feet
Bloodied mud
Guns roar loud
Canon fire
Tortured soul
In the mire
Ears erupt
Silence falls
A deathly hush
Consumes us all
We stagger forward
Not a sound
Eyes still focused
on the ground
I think of home
I think of Mum
Of days gone past
And all the fun
Of bright blue skies
of summer days
of children laughing
in the haze
A sudden crack
A hollow cry
My body topples
I only sigh.
© Graham Walker 2012
Photo courtesy of Flickr user bootbearwdc.
Categories: Poetry
