He said that the moon was pale,
A silver sliver in the choking night,
And that it illuminated their prison like cobwebs in a candle.
The deafening thuds and crashes filled
The dusty, dangerous air,
And lived in harmony with the drowning gases.
The ground was thick and uninhabitable,
So even the simple weeds had withered,
But his pride and sense of duty remained intact.
He said that men were lost each time he blinked,
So he did not close his eyes for fear of missing his friend,
Or a bullet.
Those who died were left behind,
In panic rather than disgrace,
And where they lay, a dusting of vermillion grew
That hid the smears of crimson caked into the earth,
Running into puddles of filth,
Contaminating where he was forced to cower.
He said that even the Sun could not shine a light
On the reasons for their destruction,
Because it was hiding from the enemy.
The stars shrank, wilted,
Like the hope of the men he called his brothers,
And when they died, the stars passed too.
The atmosphere was thick and smoky
With the remnants of gunfire
And the despair of the men.
He said that one evening, all was still
Yet his eyes were open, taking in reality
And he could hear the others breathe
As everyone that crouched in the trenches and the shell holes
Put down their weapons
And cried a new colour.