The Creature of the Trench

He walks over the top of the muddy trench

The stench of gunpowder, mud and rot

Pervades his nose

The voices around him

Build a slow, steady crescendo

Piercing screams

Wailing and crying

Are all added to the orchestra

 

The man walks steadily on

His feet, moist

Most likely webbed by now

A creature of the trench

 

The crescendo is building

Louder and louder

The man slips on the mud

Falling and entangling himself

In a web of barbed wire

A small fly, helplessly caught

 

Men of both sides wander the field, aimlessly

Cloaked in a pale white

The bullets go straight through them

 

The crescendo is coming to an end

A german machine gun nest has spotted the fly

The crescendo reaches the climax

All the men in white are watching

The fly has been shot repeatedly by the spiders

The bullets thud like a drum

Against the chest of the Englishman