PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

We stand in the mud in our trench,

gagging out loud at the stench.



The wounded the maimed and insane,

some crying and wailing in pain.



The rats are so fat there obese,

and everyone prays for some peace.



For nobody wants to be here,

as death grows so strong on our fear.



No one will quite understand us,

why we hate you this place they call Flanders.



"Fix bayonets" they cry one and all,

like bad apples we know we will fall.



The whistles go off in my ears,

I know that my time is so near.



Up ladders and over the top,

just run lads and don"t you stop.



I cry as i think of my boys,

blinded by smoke and by noise.



It seems such a God awful sin,

to die in a war we cant win.



I fall down so hard on my knees,

called out to Christ with my pleas.



"Remember dear Lord that i lived,

please never forget what i give."



"A young man with children and wife,

who gave to his country his life."



The Great War is over at last,

it will remain like me in the past.



but  every eleventh of November,

i ask you

to stop,

to pray

and remember.