Remember – another poem written at a workshop about #WW1 #amwriting

I’m trying to forget the fear, the mud, the stench of bodies

Blown away from themselves. The barbed wire scratching at my soul.


Shuffling towards death, one by one in dirty uniforms

Those hollowed out eyes reflecting back from my boots aren’t mine.


Others may drop plastic poppies on stone crosses and listen to the bugler

Strain at the high notes, and do nothing.


I want new explosions, new hungers, new challenges.

The dream in my head: not being dead.

About beckydeans

I've always been a writer one way or the other.
This entry was posted in poetry, workshop pieces and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s