*Surrounded by mud
our feet make love to the surface
the bullets kiss us, the bayonets hug
our intestines.....
The blankets
cuddle with our cold, decaying corpses
we write to our wives, letters that will never be delivered
the wet ground gives our feet an unpleasant present
in the form of gangrene,
the rats make themselves at home,
feasting upon the rotten
flesh of fallen comrades.....
the maggots make use
of newly formed skulks and aged decaying bone
then comes the symphony of artillery....
the roar of gunfire, the marching of tanks
the mighty foot soldiers, and
the majestic golden smoke of mustard gas
the trenches become our unwanted love
and our unholiest of homes......
"The tears do not shed
the blood does not spill, and the soldier does not die"
is the common the battle cry sung upon us
these bitter notes of blind fate forever sing to us
the illusion of life and the irony of war.....*
Jun 10, 2016
Jun 10, 2016 at 9:17 PM UTC
*Surrounded by mud
our feet make love to the surface
the bullets kiss us, the bayonets hug
our intestines.....
The blankets
cuddle with our cold, decaying corpses
we write to our wives, letters that will never be delivered
the wet ground gives our feet an unpleasant present
in the form of gangrene,
the rats make themselves at home,
feasting upon the rotten
flesh of fallen comrades.....
the maggots make use
of newly formed skulks and aged decaying bone
then comes the symphony of artillery....
the roar of gunfire, the marching of tanks
the mighty foot soldiers, and
the majestic golden smoke of mustard gas
the trenches become our unwanted love
and our unholiest of homes......
"The tears do not shed
the blood does not spill, and the soldier does not die"
is the common the battle cry sung upon us
these bitter notes of blind fate forever sing to us
the illusion of life and the irony of war.....*
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