This monolgue was inspired by "Dulce et Decorum Est" by Wilfred Owen...
Blood was on my hands, staining my hands like a foul remimder of the acts i'd committed. The dead bodies could create a stairway to heaven except it's all hell - the wailing shells and the cruel symphony of ammunition. He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning. His convulsing body wracked with waves of agonising pain. Scarlett blood trickled out of his foaming mouth. He'd been touched by the cold hand of the devil. I felt a weight on my back as another soul was collected on my shoulders. As he writhed on the floor i saw no man... just a scared boy lost in a sea of excrutiating pain, pining for his mother. Death grabbed his hand and he lay lifeless on the floor. His eyes still open, staring at the abyss. My chest grew tight as i witnessed another soul plucked from the face of the earth, gone but not forgotten.
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WW1+WW2 Poetry
PoesíaHere are some poems and monologues that i have written, inspired by a trip to Belgium and France.
