The Birth of Trenches

Because of the catastrophic effects 

generals were forced to dig in 

at the start of the war, knowing 

trenches were a temporary measure. 

But soon they became absolute, 

provided crucial protection against 

shell fragments and shock waves, 

a necessity from which there 

was no wriggling free, no possibility 

of abandoning the embrace of earth, 

the dark, necessary wisdom of 

a hollowed world, where fallen

leaves and broken twigs whispered 

lessons of staying close, becoming 

one with mud's cold innards, treating 

each granule like a prayer against calamity. 

And so the landscape morphed into 

a network of furrows and sunken 

pathways, where soldiers became 

part burrower and part sentinel,

their heads ducking instinctively 

with each rumble above, each warning 

sign that the sky had grown angry, 

and somehow needing to burrow deeper 

into the underworld, into the choreographed 

waltz of survival, sustained by 

the paradox of light up there 

and safety found down here. For when 

the artillery paused, a brief reprieve, 

they could peek over the edge, see 

the mangled, open field, recalling 

the argument of the trenches.