The mud clings thick, a heavy shroud,
On weary men, in silence bowed.
The air hangs thick, with smoke and fear,
A constant hum, a constant tear.
The sun, a distant, mocking eye,
Watches the shells, in endless sky,
Their thunderous roar, a grim refrain,
Shattering lives, and causing pain.
The rats scurry, a ghostly throng,
In tunnels dark, where shadows throng.
A whispered word, a shared despair,
For life and home, a whispered prayer.
The whistle screams, a warning cry,
And men prepare, to fight or die.
A flash of light, a deafening boom,
The ground explodes, in endless gloom.
And in the trenches, cold and deep,
The soldiers sleep, their eternal sleep.
No medals gleam, no glory shines,
Just empty lives, and endless lines.
The war goes on, a brutal dance,
Where hope is lost, and dreams are trance.
And in the mud, the silent tears,
A testament to endless years.