Memories cut through me like a knife
the past leaves me bleeding
mental images don’t heal with time
the wounds, the scars are still seeping.

The first wave, the second, a third wave
didn’t matter which, results were the same
one moment men advancing, the next, none
caught within my minds frame.

Frozen moments cut through me
like it was yesterday, not yesteryear
my body jolts as another scene is played
and I wonder how I am still here.

Over the top from the mudded trench
into a misty battlefield, a quagmire
a romantic adventure became a reality
dreams were left on the briar.

The writer’s quill dripped with blood
“All Quiet On The Western Front”
they change the words but not the story
soon the same quills became blunt.

Bullets sliced men like a crofters scythe
cutting through the flower of youth
the pick of nations offered piecemeal
every lie we believed as truth.

The past cuts deeply into my mind
how stark yesteryear is, memories are deep
the knife is slick as it pierces memories