All Quiet on the Western Front
At the western front lies silence,
a quiet line in the daily brief,
no names, no tales, no echoes,
just mud, and metal, and grief.
A man still watched the distant sky,
his eyes held dreams and light,
but every breath was borrowed,
his path dissolved in night.
They wrote: “All quiet on the Western Front,”
as if nothing stirred or broke,
but in his final, fading sigh
a world collapsed in smoke.
No anthem rose, no final cry,
his end slipped past the page,
just one more boy the war forgot,
unseen upon the stage.
And so the viewer’s hope dissolves,
like mist upon the ground,
for the boy was never meant to last—
just silence, all around.
After watching all quiet on the western front
