Trenches

Been stuck in this trench for days,

The stink of death is encompassing,

Blood stains the slushy mud,

The ever constant roaring of machine guns,

And the blaring mortar explosions.

Rats scurry to and fro,

Amongst the dead bodies,

Amongst mud,

Their tiny squeaking drowned out by the discharge of weapons,

And the endless screams of the wounded and dying fill the air.

- Michael Hall