Derek. A. Sim

(North East England.)

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The Heat Of The Battle

The devastation mounted, stacked high on layers of grief,
damnation comes to visit, taxing all belief.
Scanning all about me, the air thick with battle's noise,
in craters of mud, stained the colour of blood, lay heroes, made from young boys.
Rat-a-tat-tat, the din from a sten, releasing to the smoke filled air,
singing pellets, searching for flesh, I'm reciting; ‘The Lord's Prayer'.
Engines roar, from tanks galore, and mortars rain down from the sky,
my friend is smashed beyond repai

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