mist covered us as
we sat ‘round the fire
beaten broken men
haunted by the shade of war
the looks we exchanged
were of sullen depth
from killing, dying
for men foreign to
this field: holy and hellish
the commander stood
his immense stature
dwarfed by bitterness
and then he bellowed:
“we have won today
because we are still alive
glory is for kings
our crux lies on life
and death to others
dead men cannot boast
and earth will hold them
keeping them always
but we have survived today”
our bayonets fell
and our heads hung low
at his sordid words
that clung to the air
floating like a ghost
phantom of the moors
staying as we fade to death