You walk through the musky grass of the fields.
The dirtiness of sweat beads down your face.
The smell is disgusting, and you at first think to wipe it off,
But then you reach the trench. As you do, an alarm blares.
Suddenly, the world erupts into fire and smoke.
The sound is deafening, the sight breathtaking.
Machine guns from your lines and the enemys fire.
They rip anything in the way to shreds, reducing wood to mere splinters.
A wave of enemies approaches your trench, but your squad opens fire and kills them.
The fighting lasts for a few minutes before the casualties of your own appear.
Your best friend lay beside you in a bloody heap,
Looking as poor and helpless as a little child.
Then it hits you: what is this for?
You will not be remembered as a hero, not a savior or saint.
Why are you doing this? Killing for nothing.
Kill or be killed? Thats what you tell yourself.
Your fear hides inside you as you take out another wave.
At any moment it may burst, taking control of your body.
You fight that fear as hard as you can, knowing what happens when you crack.
Then your commander orders you out. Your first wave attacks.
Just as your wave, your brother beside you, leave the trench,
An airplane flies by and the entire thing goes up in flames.
The sound is deafening, you may even go deaf.
The smoke is filling the air and tears form in your eyes.
Then your brother is shot, he falls to the floor.
He was gone, just like that, too fast for feeling.
You turn to flee, but a bullet strikes your leg.
You fall to the floor, the fear slowly taking place.
You lie on the floor, paralyzed in pain.
Only one hope stands for you and your men,
That some survived in the trench, and still fight the enemy the same as before.
But the hope is lost when a different explosion sounds,
And gas fills the air, sweeping straight to your battle line.
Your skin begins tingle, then it hurts.
It feels like an itch that hurts too bad not to scratch.
Tears form in your eyes; its getting too hard to see through the smoke.
Then the poisonous gas reaches your lungs, and you stop breathing altogether.
You know if you breathe out, you wont breathe again.
Your lungs are stuck in place; you cant breathe no matter how hard you try.
You close your eyes; the memories of your past come to life.
You enjoy the pleasant, and cry time and time again of the bitterness.
Your chest feel as if a brick lay on it, and the pain is too incredible to describe.
Then you exhale, the last of your life drains away,
And you feel your body getting lighter, like your soul is leaving your wounded body.
You know you wont be remembered just like everyone else,
So your last thought surely must be: why do we fight in a war?
There is too much pain and suffering for all.
Then there is no more pain, or stone.
No memories, no past, only the future is here.
You open your eyes to see the same little field.
No bodies are strewn across, no fires anywhere.
It is night; its warm, just perfect to you.
You walk across the field, stroking the grass, wishing you could stay there forever.
But you know you wont, so you just relax,
Then you fall asleep under the night sky, remembering the life that had just passed away.