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Trench Warfare

Peter Goulding

Friday, September 24th, 2004

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Like a blanket of fog did the red mist descend,
A thick deadened shroud that one could not transcend.
From far, far away came the cries of despair,
And screams of pure anguish sliced through the thick air.
In the mist he caught sight of a blackened shape running,
A scurrilous foe full of vigour and cunning,
And with a twist of his body, he sprang like a puma,
His crazy-eyed grin showing no sign of humour.
He caught his assailant around his thick neck,
And the two of them heavily fell to the deck.
They scrabbled around in the soft, sinking mud,
His nostrils alive to the keen smell of blood.
And as his opponent fell limp on his back,
He looked at the face and his jawbone went slack.
What terrible times could conspire to destroy
This slip of a lad, little more than a boy?
And, as he crouched over the body so still,
He heard a loud whistling, ebullient and shrill.
He span around wildly, his guts in a knot,
And watched the old referee point to the spot.

© Peter Goulding 24th September 2004

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/trench-warfare/