Amos Greig

Rookie - 0 Points (05/04/1973 / Belfast)

Last Orders Poem by Amos Greig

The men stumbled in the cold,
Mud filled trenches.
Ole sarge paces watching.
Where are our orders why haven't we moved yet?

He looks at his watch the glass cracked
The sky brightens as night is cast aside by
Artillery fire
Like a fireworks display he saw as a lad

He prays as the trench shudders and mud ripples
The very earth feels as if mighty machineries
Pound her like some malleable metal.
Where are our orders why haven't we moved yet?

Darkness descends the soil rises to meet him
Painfully awareness returns
Then silence
Artillery stops
Snow falls.

Men look In surprise
Open food rations
No battle for us today.

Were we forgotten?
Where are our orders?
Why haven't we moved yet?

Submitted: Tuesday, November 6, 2012

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