WW1+WW2 Poetry

Massacre of the Somme

The shells pounded the earth

and the wave of machine fire pierced skin and stopped hearts.

the trenches shuddered and shook,

the wails of men echoed through the night.

We dug deep into the French soil,

The June sun beating down on our aching limbs.

The sandbags were steadily stacking

and the shouting of "grabung"* ricocheted down the line.

It had begun.

We sat and shut our eyes with fear,

my hands trembled into a praying position.

I'd never felt so isolated in my life.

A shrill cry awoke me from my reverie,

the boys' eyes were wide and frantic, darting from left to right.

His hands shook viokently and covered his head.

"Make it stop!" every crash that followed caused him to flinch and spiral even further into his shellshock.

Quite ironic isn't it?... shell shocked.

There was an almighty thundering beside us.

Someone had been hit, the sad thing was.

we were happy it wasn't us.

They held their bayonets limply in their hands, as if they had no intention of using it/

They slowly strolled across no man's land as if they didn't realise they were in the middle of a war.

The crackle of machine fire sliced through the air

The massacre followed.

They tripped and landed on the barbed wire,

they wailed as their friends were shot down beside them, then they too turned silent and joined them.

The shells looped high in the sky and burst on the floor sending men scattering.

They were forced onwards... towards their deaths.

Photos of family were still clutched in their cold hands.

The look of defeat was evident in their eyes.

That was no fight,

it was a massacre.

Massacre of the Somme.

*grabung means dig