Stacking Shelves

I’m bored of the minutes

Time shooting fast bullets

Some I miss

 

I think of the glory

Fighting for a flag

While my every move is anticipated

By other men

Like pawns on a chessfield

But surely getting shot

Is better than stacking shelves

 

Used and tossed away

With a pittance

Locked up in some retirement home

At the age of 40

 

But surely it’s better than stacking shelves

 

 

Raided

A crack that was once sealed

Tears open in my heart

The unnamed creatures pour out

Winged, finned

Thousand legged

Thousand eyes

Countless monsters

Wreak havoc in my body

They pull at my heart strings

They cement my thoughts

They dry my skin

Scratching behind my eyes

With their claws

Their laughter

Denies me any focus

I once had

I let their destructive rage

Continue

Until they tire

And go home

I re-seal the crack

To begin repairs on my body

 

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