Memories from Home

A poem about World War 1 and the thoughts of one soldier who just wants to get back home

I look down towards the ground, 
Damp and wet all around, 
Mud and blood stain my boots, 
Left there by a new recruit.

Tears fill my eyes, 
I try to disguise,
My memories from home.

Running towards the front line, 
Aches and pains all combine,
Heart beats fast and lungs inflate,
I know I’m in a bad state.

Thick, dark smoke covers my sight,
Yellow gas, I scream with fright, 
Down I fall to my knee’s,
Not now, not me, don’t please!

I feel pain now, 
Not much more I can allow,
My memories from home.

Breathing is hard, I feel faint,
In and out of consciousness,
German voices coming near,
Closer and closer, they appear.

Standing right there,
In front, they stare,
My memories from home.

This is the end, I have no doubt,
A man moves, "HALT" they shout,
They shoot, blood comes from his head
No saving him now, he’s dead.

I close my eyes,
And wait to die
My memories from home.

The End

2 comments about this poem Feed