No Mans Land

I've heard stories worthy of the title 'legend',

Born from realities that occurred over a century ago,

I've heard all about the brave men who stood there,

About the horrors they faced, and their pipe dreams of 'home'.

I've stood where they stood, shared their stage,

I shadowed their footsteps with my own,

Silence abounds over emerald craters and mounds,

And the countryside, frozen, is drowned in ghostly moans.

Now, those men I read about, suddenly breathe life again,

My empathy allows me to recreate a semblance of the chaos they were in.

The trenches, triangular, widened, the higher that they got,

But at the very base of them they were only a foot width apart.

A line here would file singularly, meandering through the mud,

Until the omnipotent order was given to "Go over the top!".

The smell I cannot begin to imagine, no, not even in my mind,

All I can hear is gunshots, resulting in blood-curdling screams & cries.

Who could have possibly imagined that one day I'd be here,

Under the same stretch of sky,

A lonely willow Tree stands tall and proud,

as if it has somehow fought the battle & survived,

The memories weigh heavy on its shoulders,

Memories of destruction, death and strife.