Year 8 War Poetry

Is it really glorious to die for your country?

As we trudged through the sludge, we could hear the booming gunshots and explosions from up ahead.

Tired and exhausted but determined to carry on.

Cowering cautiously like ants, we followed each other. Left, right and centre you could see people dying but you could never tell who was dying as we all looked the same.

Watching hopelessly, hearing screams of pain. I couldn’t help but think I could be next. I just stood there shell-shocked, thinking about the horrors that I have had to endure. As my comrade on the floor smoked his deadly cigarette, it gave him the minute of relief that he desperately needed.

Sneaking through the thick smoke feeling more sure than anything that I was going to die in this game of war.

Like peas in a pod.

Like toys in a toy box.

Helpless, hopeless, horrified.

Soldiers around me plead with God. Time stood still. Tormented and torn.

Fallen like a culled tree. Trying to catch his last breath. His dying thoughts of his mother back home.

Comrades around him weeping. Mum unaware, still sleeping. Whilst I looked on and questioned: Is it really glorious to die for your country?