OVER THE TOP!

 Howitzers crashing outside the trenches

Pernicious and lamenting, forsaken

Harbingers, whose thirst never quenches,

The Inhumane Gatling’s grotesquely rattle

Forever of death, the ghosts are waking

Terrifyingly the bell tolls, the whistles shriek

And all around they smell his sickly scent

Foreshadowed, shaking, they stand too

 

OVER THE TOP! Death cries

Faceless is the grave that devours their souls

Generation departed, doomed, condemned

over-the-trenches

Poem © Phen Weston

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s