The Lambs

The Lambs



A black fog, like lead, settles upon me,

my eyes are veiled- yet I know the foe.

The band, upon the grassy yonder, across the shimmering sapphire stream,

the ones like me, are the ones I’m told.

Thus, we are here, anxiety thick and heavy,

with dread determination, bayonets at the ready.



A crack in the sky, they told us it’s time, the still silence shattered,

as we surged, roared, thundered forward like the tide.

Knowing only what they told us, our sight ceased to matter,

because we heard the same from the other side.

Soon shrieks of anguish rifled the frozen blue heavens,

as little splinters of death our way came.

Meat crumpled, my brethren, prone in the shimmering scarlet stream, became deafened,

and with opaque sightless eyes saw, more than the living, something not quite the same.



Those still possessed of breath forged onward,

trudging across the bridge of dead, devoid of reason.

Then the heavens exploded in radiance, as all faces turned skyward,

to the planes ablaze, the crafts of war, painting the blue crimson.

As I gazed, there came a prick in my heart, as a splinter speared it,

and I too fell to the barren upturned ground.

My eyes seared by the skyward brilliance, at last glimpsed what the dead saw; the veil uplifted.

I saw a mother’s pain, a lover’s tear and of a home across the sea, with children frolicking round.



Then at once, I knew what they told us, was as false as false can be,

for I knew of the look possessed by men slain at my feet.

I wildly clutch at the next charging fool, to scream the truth I found,

yet the swirling shadows seem stronger, the darkness thicker- my dead throat produced no sound.