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Mar 2021
The wind bellows:
Unrelenting, pounding, cold.
A dog barks, sending sharp shivers down my spine.
Lying on my front my nose presses against the mud, It's earthy smell filling my nostrils.
Footsteps quicken; voices rise, the taste of salty sweat on my brow.
They've found me.
Reaching for my revolver I grasp it firmly, assured at last.
A single shot fires, it's echoes piercing the night as the thirsty ground soaks up my blood.
Šī¸ 2021 Joshua Reece Wylie. All rights reserved.
A poem about a soldier in world war I who was never going to allow himself to be captured and become a prisoner of war.
Joshua Reece Wylie
Written by
Joshua Reece Wylie  30/M/Lincolnshire
(30/M/Lincolnshire)   
953
   Imran Islam
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