Yellow

"Ready!"

His heartbeat like the artillery boom, reminding him why he had fled.
He had run away from the trenches, he had run for he feared being dead.

"Aim!"

His breathing was erratic, as he choked on his rising vomit.
His men had choked on mustard gas, but now he choked far from it.

"Fire!"

He never thought he'd scream again, after that word was said.
He was certain that at least one man, would take aim at his head.

"Can not one of you lousy lot shoot straight? Come on lads let's get this job done!"
"No wonder we're still in the trenches, with you soapy sods at the Hun!"

"Ready!"

The artillery was practically silent, as it's ammunition trickled away.
All he could do was twitch in agony, all he could do was pray.

"Take Steady Aim!"

Please Kill Me! Please Kill Me! Please Kill Me!
His mind was screaming out loud.
How he now wished he'd gone over the top, at least he could have died proud.

"Fire!"

The poppy fields where silent, a monument to the brave.
Elsewhere a lonely daffodil, marks a broken, lonely grave.