Sleep wants to claim you.
The shells exploding about
and sharp whistling shrapnel
prevents that claim to a large
degree. You watch rats run
along the trench with your
tired eyes. You dream of
home and homefires burning.
You catch laughter somewhere
over. Fritz and their Deutschland
humour. Some of the boys
shout obscenities back which
carries over no-man's land
and coal black. You smell
the stink of too many men
in too little space and death
and dying. You lean against
the wall of the damp trench
and stare at stars in that
canvas of sky. You will be
out of the trench tomorrow
you muse if you only survive
the night and bombs you might.
Mar 27, 2018
Mar 27, 2018 at 11:44 AM UTC
Sleep wants to claim you.
The shells exploding about
and sharp whistling shrapnel
prevents that claim to a large
degree. You watch rats run
along the trench with your
tired eyes. You dream of
home and homefires burning.
You catch laughter somewhere
over. Fritz and their Deutschland
humour. Some of the boys
shout obscenities back which
carries over no-man's land
and coal black. You smell
the stink of too many men
in too little space and death
and dying. You lean against
the wall of the damp trench
and stare at stars in that
canvas of sky. You will be
out of the trench tomorrow
you muse if you only survive
the night and bombs you might.
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