They come in great veils,
all with smiles on their faces.
They march with honor in mind,
they reach the trenches and shock crosses each life,
like the trigger of a gun.
They find their spot to sit in sludge of the earth,
feet rot in the wet.
They weep, realising that war is dark,
like a never ending storm,
crossing the days and nights.
They sleep in dug-outs,
like moles in the ground.
Constantly bombarded by enemy artillery.
They hear the screams of dying men through no-mans land,
the clatter of machine guns over head.
Ever so often they hear loud snips,
as their fellow comrades are picked off by snipers.
Then everything goes silent,
no more shells falling,
making craters in the ground.
No more death....
And then,
the leaders of this regiment call up the men,
they speak of cowardice is death.
Everyone prepares to go over the top,
with their rifles loaded and bayonets sharp.
Three minutes to go,
few look terrified and start to cry.
Then....
The whistle blows and all hell breaks loose,
the sound of bullets ring out again.
Men fall,
like leaves blown off trees by the wind,
death is all around,
no man is alive.
Silence will fall.
End.