A stampede of mud caked boots,
Trampling over sodden wasteland,
Through the terrible trenches.
Our final sliver of peace,
In a world without morals.
My hands grip the ladder,
As the final shaking foot climbs to the last rung,
I follow cautiously.
Death is near,
The end cruelly taunting.
My feet drag heavily,
Rifle ready in my quivering arms.
Metal rain showers mercilessly down,
Bang whistle bang whistle,
It fails to cease.
Lonely cries and muffled goodbyes,
Blood stained faces.
Broken bodies,
Hearts,
The wounded soldier crumpling in defeat.
White ghosts of my deceased squad,
Encircle my frail self.
The shield fails,
I fall,
Stumbling over the eternally sleeping.
Blood, blood, so much blood,
Severed flesh and broken bones.
Blurred vision,
All blanketed by the night,
The inky blackness enveloping me kindly.
Does war cease in heaven God?
I call out to the cold.
As I feel the darkness call me,
My relief, my shield from the shame,
It is my cowardness that kills me.
I die all alone,
No glory,
No pride,
No fame.
