17 February 2013
You go to war willingly,
Not for what you believe,
Or because it's right,
But to save yourself
From a real fight,
No idea that death will
Hold your hand for
Two years; bearing the
Injured, dying, dead,
Takes it's toll until
The Somme, where
You do the unthinkable
To escape the horror of
The inescapable;
A light held over the trenches
A bullet to the hand,
A journey home,
A life left to live,
But still alone.
T.B. - The Somme • Opuss № I