a poem by Phillip Joseph Hussey, UK

They trudge through mud and murky swamp
From there they emerge cold and damp
Their lost souls and dim spirited minds
The sound of battle their beings binds
Blind with the futile desire to live
Exhausted by desire to service give
Their young lives only hours dead
Torn bodies from whence their souls fled
Rifles only wisps of vanishing light
From shattered shoulders borne to fight
Haunted by the sounds of distant guns
Blown by the wind of a thousand suns
Within they are dying to return to life
Hating to leave this world of strife
So they march in the dimensions of time
To find a place so peaceful and sublime

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