Nightmares disguised as dreams

Silenced Sorrow

Silent and bewildered, standing with pride, long the line is, scared are the hearts ; when will this suffering end? More importantly when will the enemy withdraw? Whilst they stand parallel to me, outnumbered by many, bullets and bodies, even I can feel their torment, for this wind screeching, will guide this cannon shot, tear the bodies must, from the line they hold, only for us to leave with our blinded morals home. Who is the better army in this battle, not by battalion size, not by musket range, but by ideals; do what we must to protect them, even though we can't trust them. "Forward" the commander screams, sunken each one of our hearts become, for each step forward, is one step towards the thunder.

Futile I am, bitter I will become, whether it's my body lying in the fields, or in my old bed home, cannon fodder I must be, in order to save thee, those who stand behind us, and shout our anthem unknowingly.

Image meaning: French elite guards politely ask British elite guards who should fire their weapons first.