Loud explosions are our good morning,

As we scramble for our weapons an idea is forming.

A command is barked, a reply is heard.

More men will be risked, but this is preferred.

The cold mud chills our bones as we run,

Over the hill and into the sun.

 

The dazzling colours entrance us briefly,

Before the dire moment fills us completely.

First down is Johnny, writhing in pain,

The gunshots shower down in heavy rain.

Like every day I pray for the morrow,

To see my family and ease their sorrow.

 

I refocus my mind and continue to run,

Weighed down heavily by mud and my gun.

They pick us off, there was never a chance,

God knows why we took a fighting stance.

 

As another friend drops beside me,

It has become clear for us to see,

We don’t have a future, it all ends here,

On the war front, submersed in fear.

 

This hellish experience in the dirt and grime,

Smelling repulsive, choking on slime,

We won’t survive, we won’t be fine.

This is not the experience of a lifetime.

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