Perched over the trench’s edge, myself and the men, as our ears were primed to abate that dreaded whistle.
Thistle was the feeling that stung right down to the ear drums, stifled breath, hands tensed
a moment’s hesitation.
Though it was as if a ghost had brought all that to nought, so over we went.
Drenched by a storm’s flurry, as we fleeted across land that belonged to no Man, though the land had claim on them.
When, then would it end? This Great War to end all wars?
Torn were the muscles that were of my body, in which it carried itself over a cacophony of death
that waited tenfold furthermore on the other side.
No hope remained to relinquish such horror, albeit, the very thing I ran towards
did become the strange relief I had not longed for.
For it were a blink that I stood, alone, in silence
the storm gone and a perfect sunny day reigned the skies.
Amongst a field of poppies
time had shifted, my old bones knew, for the land had undoubtedly claimed them.