Echoes of War
In Memoriam of brave, lost souls during the First World War
Our insides churn, nostrils flare, with the pungent stench,
Order given to leave our sanctuary and trench.
Battle cry, whistle blown and up and over we go;
Standing together in advancement row by row.
We, doomed soldiers, marching onto the battlefield
holding our rifles, killing weapons, as our shields.
Hats made of tin lay cumbrous on our head,
Boots holding chaffed, unsteady feet, as we tread.
Upfront the enemy and fast approaching us,
Peaceful bygone days, oh— how beautiful it was!
Loss of innocence, bloodied through war, outbraves,
Blades turn crimson red — so many early graves.
Bugles sound, shells explode, blinded and choked within;
Shattered dreams, shattered lives, battle we may not win.
Comrades that became friends fall at our feet —
Only death awaiting them now to meet.
Their last breathless, muttered words lovingly spoken,
A falling silent tear, plea, gesture or token.
Remembrance to behold for their sweetheart, mother;
Final last memories, thoughts, can be of no other.
Resonant of sound and echoes of war
a shroud of smoke filled air as now and before.
Remember us always today and forever more.
We gave to king, country and those we adore.
Copyright © Christina Bowring | Year Posted 2023
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