PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

We stood beside our mounts.

Their heads tossed up and down and they would snort.

They felt the heat as well.



My jackets armpits were wet with sweat

and my hair felt it had died under my hat.

A horse came from the right with an agitated rider

and more importantly a message.



Lord Cardigan looked stressed,

i could see him quite clearly flicking flies

and seemingly taking a huff.

He looked the pompous ass

my father said he was.



The outrider left and a shouted command was given.

"the brigade will advance"

but i swear i never heard a trumpet call.

We mounted.



We had covered barely one hundred yards,

the 13th and 17th along with the 11th Hussars

when the messenger,

it was Captain Nolan,

rode across the front of us all

sword raised, shouting.

He was pointing towards Causeway Heights

as the first shells fell among us.



Horses reared and chaos reigned

and i saw Nolan fall the first

casualty of the charge

as we galloped down the mouth

of the valley.

Smoke filled our eyes, dust filled our mouths

and urine soaked our breeches

as the thunderous charge

finally reached the Russian guns.



I remember little of the slash and hash,

except my right arm heavy with cramp

and a fist fused to my sword.

My horses ears were flat and back

i could feel her fear more than my own.



I knew not which direction i faced.

It seemed an eternity since the charge.

Then there he was.

Lord Cardigan.

He looked as lost and in as much despair as me.

"I have lost my Brigade" he said.

Those words should be our epitaph

i thought.



My courage was gone,

and so was my Regiment.

I cried.