Death In The Trenches Poem by Mark Sellen

In these horrific mud-filled trenches,
Death lurks and death has struck,
Decaying limbs and forgotten bodies,
Lie still and lifeless in the muck.

War-scarred bodies beyond recognition,
Stacked like boxes, some ten feet high,
Await the weary burial party,
As they slowly dig their graves nearby,

Huge horse carcases, with feeding flies,
Lie sprawled across the muddy ground,
With their masters decaying,
Ounce by ounce, pound by pound.

Blood-stained fingers grip on triggers,
Eyes survey the battleground,
For now the guns have stopped a-thundering,
All is quiet; there is no sound.

A screaming shell breaks the silence,
With a thud! It hits the ground,
Followed by a loud explosion,
Cries are heard for miles around.

Men bent double clutch their stomachs,
As deadly gases fill the air,
Screaming, coughing, choking, stumbling,
They quietly utter their final prayer.

Blood swamps the shell torn trenches,
Rats scurry to and fro,
Feeding on the bloody carnage,
Left from battles, not long ago.

Suddenly the battle pauses,
Men have time to breathe once more;
They are tired of the way they’re living,
Tired of this bloody war!

Weary doctors tend the injured,
But their efforts are in vain,
As star shells light up the darkness,
And the battle onslaught starts again.

Again the guns have stopped a-thundering,
All is quiet; there is no sound,
Corpses guard the empty trenches,
Silent is the battleground.