Hell Cannot Be As Bad As This

Hell cannot be as bad as this.

Entrenched,

I dwell amongst; exist amidst

a stinking mound of fallen men

who lie dead-eyed

in bubbling broth of shit and piss.

Earth moves as worms writhe

and feast on human flesh,

rats gnaw deep exposing bones

and in this mess a wounded soldier 
groans and screams in unremitting pain

and longs for sweet release of death,

long lost his dream of going home.

Half-mad, I suck (the breath) in deep,

let it cling to chest lest it be the last I draw. 

Sometimes when morning breaks like this,

illuminates lights up the carnage spread before

or in the black of night

when imagination plays its cruellest tricks,

I think death much more preferable to this.

What price this place in human life is made? 

How many soldiers’ hearts must spill their blood,

lay still upon its soil its stinking mud

until its final cost is paid?

Anna

The assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand the catalyst for what was to become The First World War, the first mindless, global war brought about by the insanity of the treaty alliance system, the war to end all wars…

The Battle of Verdun was the longest and one of the major battles fought on the Western Front and according to modern estimations the casualty count is in the region of 976,000.

The poem is composed of eye-witness accounts of life in the trenches found here and at other sites dedicated to The Battle of Verdun.

With thanks to Tess at The Mag for the inspiration, also linked to the good folk at dVerse~Poets PubOpen Link Night.

(Apart from minor editing, the words are of the original post.  The image differs as upon searching, I found the original copyrighted.)

I first posted these words on 14/11/12, and have reposted today as they remain relevant to all who have sacrificed their lives in the terrible arena of that that is war.

War does not only touch our soldiers who battle conscripted or not, but also civilians, and the death toll, the carnage, defies imagination.

Of course I am anti-war, but realistic enough to realise that conflict is sometimes neccessary to uphold to defend that that is good, that that is right.   Unfortunately the conflict of war is more often decided on the greed of humankind, whether it be for territory or the control of hearts and minds or any other pitiful excuse.

We will never learn for like it or not, we are tribal.

(I wear a red poppy although my heart tells me white.)

(Shared with the good folk at Poets United.)

Image:  Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Author:  Baldridge, Cryus Leroy (1889-1977