wanderlust

War

running, fleeing from the enemy,
eyes red, tears dried,
many of my friends have already died.
nothing in this war can be described,
only the loss of faith and hope.
our hearts have perished and our fear is something we must hide.
my mother writing letters,
not knowing of our true living,
exterminating human beings,
and our lives we are giving
to protect this cold world,
from any further harm,
being forced to endure these harsh winters,
without my darling, i can never be calm.
she was shot in the head,
leaving her blood stained body in our bed,
on the day we were to wed,
i can never get that image out of my head.
suicide takes over my thoughts,
fear coursing through me like poison through my veins,
i only now know that nothing can be gained
from this war that we fight for, die for, and get scarred for life,
if people knew the true reality, they would be shockingly surprised
of how much life is wasted on this field,
no man's land has no winners,
only death, hate and cold killers
who leave their men wounded,
to struggle for themselves,
to leave them to die,
in a harsh cold burning hell.
people told me it would be over,
and england would be the winner,
but it is now 1916,
and the ice is only getting thinner.

 



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