Ground down.
Ground down
Like so many dark grains
In a pepper pot
The dugout held aloft
By planks of decaying wood
The rats go about their business underfoot
Unafraid of man
The guns we only fear them
When they stop
For then it’s time
To head over the top
The barbed wire
Rusting and twisting in the rain
The bayonet, the same
Ground down
So many empty gestures
Long forgot
Empty spaces
Where men lived and shot
Now empty rifles
Placed against the trench remain.
11th October 2014.
Life in the trenches, The Great War.
Political Poems & Others 