The gripping mud clawing away,
Sapping energy from the lifeless husks of men.
The steady chatter of their teeth matching their guns,
As explosions constantly hammer into their skulls.
Proud men reduced to beggars by the grim reality,
Too tired to feel their life ebbing from abhorrent wounds.
The rays of hope pierce the smoke and clouds,
Only for the silent reaper to drift over.
Blocking the rays from the Sun.

Men trapped in their bodies,
Their hands quiver as memories of darkness overwhelm,
Of friends they once had, of families sheared apart.
Only to be forced to keep working for the cruel machine of war.