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.