1917

by

Richard Betts Jr.

I sit here in this
God-forsaken place.
With the lives of my friends
Smeared across my face.

I crouch low in this
Blood-encrusted trench.
Surrounded by death's
Unmistakable stench.

A bugle blow. Is my
Last morning dawning?
The shells fly, and the
Boys begin falling.

I sping up from my
Position and join the fray.
I shoot and kill
As I run and pray.

A hail of bullets
Brings closure to the madness.
I am overcome with
Relief more than hurt and sadness.

My last shallow gasps
Escape as I'm crawling.
I feel no more pain,
The Lord, I think, is calling.

In this unknown Belgian town,
I slowly wait to die.
Someone please ask the High
Command, "For what? Why?"

NEXT?
Why don't you look at Kyoto Agreement Maybe
by: James Bredin
from: Toronto, ON, CA

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