1918, In The Trenches

the gritty dirt~floor presses to me

like all that i can’t erase,

my fear, their fear, the noise

our fuel, the will to survive and anger,

anger conceived by those with no reason to be angry

we do not run on food

his leg, it’s gone, his arm, it is ripped open

the moans

thick air, carrying bullets

like silver telegrams of death

laughing in your face, then ripping it off

before you can react

smoke choking lungs

sticky dark red flowing

and

pain

all that pain

pain of centuries spent in one afternoon

BOOM

he falls, i knew him

BOOM

two more, on the other side

BOOM

one more

BOOM

three

BOOM

two

BOOM

i lose track

BOOM,BOOM,BOOM,BOOM

something in the corner of my vision

winged and dark

is it a raven or a crow?

 

oh

a vulture

SLAM

now it is not pain

but death that has me

 

hello mother

 

 

 

 

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