WW1+WW2 Poetry

Watching Over a Fox Hunting Man

So yesterday i broke up from school as it's now the summer holidays (yay) and i remembered i wanted to post this particular piece. So my last English assessment was to present a monologue about someone historically significant and write a monologue about said person in the perspective of a relative/friend/ wife/ husband... you get the idea of it. I decided to write about Siegfried Sassoon (famous WW1 poet) from the perspective of Wilfred Owen. 

We write the monologue in any style and i was inspired by Caroline Ann Duffy's : Mrs Midas which is a monologue come poem so here's what i wrote. 

His face awash with bandages,

white across the battlefield. 

There lies a small poppy of red,

on the forehead of a man who should be dead. 

He should be as dead as the leaves that fall-

to the floor in Autumn but that is not to be.

His eyes, those empty eyes, look up,

and he smiles at me. 

How can it be?

How can it?

He was shot in the head for- for gods sake!

To hell with dulce et decorum est;

what about us: the rest?

We're asleep dreaming and lullen and warm and-

they come, the homeless ones, the noiseless dead,

all screaming inside of his head.

I shake him awake into bitter safety,

and we lay in soothing embrace.

We both too fearing the land of the unawake. 

Dawn began with slashing rain and-

it took me back to the trenches. 

I think of the boys face;

his eyes were still pleading for his mother but she'd never find her solider boy for-

he was torn apart by war and scattered into pieces.

Time was slipping by,

as i watched Siegfried recover.

His smile was wild with regret,

as more visitors came from the world of the dead. 

Sometimes i wonder if he's tipping over the edge,

tipping so far that even i won't be able to save him.

Our time together is growing thin,

as the call returns home. 

He's desperate for me not go and i-

just want to stay in his arm but-

war is not so understanding;

it's his nature.

So when i meet again with the monstrous anger of the guns,

i'll think of his smile, his laughter, his love and-

in outcast gloom, convulsed and jagged and riven,

in his tortured eyes,

i'll stand forgiven.

Please review :)