I suddenly pick up my ears.
Am I deceived?
"There'll be a bombardment, I tell you. I can feel it in my bones."
We've become thick-skinned, and start out for the front plain soldiers, either cheerful or gloomy
This is the front, now we are within its embrace
We feel that in our blood a contact has shot home
It is the front, the consciousness of the front, that makes this contact
We march up, reach the zone where the front begins and become on the instant human animals
By the animal instinct that is quicker, much more sure, less fallible, than the consciousness
A broken arm is better than a hole in the guts, and a man would be thankful enough for such a chance of finding his home way again.
The sustaining forces pour into us-mostly from Earth.
To no man does the earth mean so much as to the soldier
When he presses himself down upon her long and powerfully,
When he buries his face and his limbs in her from fear of death by shell-fire,
Then she is his only security; brother, his mother, he stifles his terror and his cries in her silence and her security;
She shelters him and releases him for ten seconds to live, to run, ten seconds of life; receives him again and often forever.
The twilight seems to draw us together
Each of us sitting, standing, laying, but most importantly wondering,
About different or similar things
All of us wondering and waiting, to finally be free from this burden
We are too young to know what lies ahead, but old enough to know that this isn't our war to fight
We've been deceived by those that we once trusted and looked up to
ultimately destroying everything we once knew and believed in...
To make our life as we know it become:
Wake, eat, if there's time and food, get whatever it is needed, fight, and survive.
That's what our day to day life, struggling and wondering if we're going to make it through, to live to see another day.
Sometimes I don't know what's worse,
to die young or old, in the war.
Either way I wouldn't want to be the one that has to inform the family of the deceased...
As I ponder over these things, I look around in the trench and wonder what my comrades are thinking about.
I cross my leg and scratch my head, shrugging it off, who knows...
There really isn't time for wasting it on thinking of these things.
okay a little back story on this poem:
I am reading All Quiet on the Western Front in my English class and we had an assignment to pick out sentences from the story and use only the words from the book to create a poem. [:
well me being me I added about 13 lines of my own to the mix. haha
I hope you enjoyed it, please read, comment, vote, and fan me! [: I'd love to get more fans
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Most of my poetry has either: Helped me get through tough experiences in life, due to an English assignment, and or it started out as a random thought that turned into something kinda wonderful. All of my poetry is extremely personal and I hope you...