Front Line

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.