Over The Top

Birds no longer sing Where young men cowered in trenches Rifle with bayonet fixed Wondering if they would live or die Wanting comfort of a mother's kiss. Officers blew whistles Brigade clamber from trenches Walking over shell craters through barbwire On towards waiting machine guns Surmounting terrors that make men insane. There is no sound But thumping beat of each soldier's heart As he steps forward into hell Trying to control terror and panic Thinking of loved ones back home. Machine gunners open up Chatter of bullets raking the ranks Deafening noise, screams as men fall Wounded struggling in the mud And for dead grieving mothers to mourn.