Trench Poem by Mason Maestro

They got the men
That cannot sleep
At night each side
They're much too deep
Blood red
Eyes losing sight
Exploding mines
Oh, they just might
Mix the sticks
Of dynamite
Black or white
Is this our fight?
Come on courage
Let's be heard
Turn the feelings
Into words
Flanders fields
Always been sour
The poppy blossoms
Had to be devoured
No killing quenches
The rain, it drenches
Get me out of these
Mud-bogged trenches

My fight is not with Germany
Is not what it ought to be
To those behind this hollow tree
Emotions burn below the knee

Blackest anger
Whitest fear
We hear and see
The public enemy
Vicious politician
Doin' somethin'
For his own ambition
Never touch
The sound we make
They discard now
Vows that we take
Broke my fourth finger
Still I can't forget
'Cause the misery lingers
Sitting in the grip
Of a killing fist
Giving up blood
Just to exist
Agony is not my friend
I'll snap before I bend
All I see is insanity
All I need is to meet my end
No killing quenches
The rain, it drenches
Get me out of these
Mud-bogged trenches

My fight is not with Germany
Is not what it ought to be
To those behind this hollow tree
Emotions burn below the knee