A World War One poem describing how a soldier in WW1 is cowering in a trench as it is being bombarded from enemy lines, berating the Generals who are safe and well and out of harm’s way.
I believed you honourable, you let me down
High Statesmen and Generals so brave,
Out of line of fire,
Far from death and the wire,
While I rot in this trench that’s my grave!
I surrendered my innocence, you beguiled me,
With stories of glories yet to be won.
“Take this gun, this shilling,
Only cowards turn from killing,
God is only on our side son!”
Naïve to your rhetoric you used me,
“We’ll soon stop the murdering Hun”.
Men are wretched and crying,
Sick of slaughter and dying
And still the job isn’t done!
I trusted; yet you deceived me, crying
“Victory shall be ours for the reaping”.
But there’s no pride in a prize,
Gained through brainwash and lies,
And high-ranking conscience… it’s sleeping!
Other World War One Poems by Charles Moorhen:
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