Go Marching
Columns of men go marching.
Blue Scottish kilts,
Dull Khaki uniforms,
Rounded tin helmets,
Mother tongues,
All joined as one,
Brothers of this Earth.
Columns of men go marching,
Over sodden roads,
Deep in mud,
Carrying supplies,
Down in to the ground,
Common songs,
Remind them of home.
Columns of men go marching,
Weary legs finally rest,
Crouched for safety,
Settling in,
Home for the week,
Friends are made,
Stories are told.
Columns of men go marching,
They’re going over,
One last look.
Glance at photos,
Remember your life,
Fight for your comrades,
Be brave for each other.
Columns of men go marching,
The deafening noise,
The ammo hurtling over,
The deathly mines,
The anguished cries,
The fresh blood,
The paralysing fear,
The wrenching hurt.
The tanks.
The fire.
The loss.
Your brothers are on the field.
Columns of men go marching,
Men are out there,
Your friends,
Your brothers,
Dying in agony,
Bleeding to death,
The hurt inside your soul.
Columns of men go marching,
A haunting cry,
A wounded horse screams,
It breaks your heart,
A gun shot,
The screams halt.
Peace, their pain is no more.
A column of men comes marching back.
Their brothers lost.
YOU ARE READING
World War One Poetry
PoetryA collection of poetry with World War One as a central theme, as a result of my English A level course.
