The Truth

A realist poem about what it would have been like for soldiers in World War 1 and 2.

The Truth

Explosions on my left, dead bodies on my right
When will this be done?
Who will prosper; win this fight?
And who will be left to run?

The guns we carry on our shoulder
The grenades around our waist
The days; our hearts are turning colder
Our sleepless nights increase with haste

Through mud we walk for miles on end
Our feet rotting in our boots
The things they say to make us defend
Our family, our country, our roots

The trench, an endless maze to insanity
The fields, a canvas painted black
The barbed wire, an invention of inhumanity
The opposition preparing to attack

We sit and wait for the first gun shot
The signal for us all
We wait in silence, our stomachs in knots
For the first of many to fall

The guns are fired, the battle begun
But it's only getting started
Many of us will die so young
But from our minds they will never be parted

Explosions to my left, dead bodies to my right
Will this ever be done?
Will we ever prosper; win this fight?
Will we be the ones to run?