October 23, 2009
By Alvina Jiao BRONZE, Vienna, Virginia
Alvina Jiao BRONZE, Vienna, Virginia
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

Bullets rain down from blood-stained sky
as we march into the onslaught
on every side I see
my brothers falling
limbs shattered, crimson-spattered
picked off like flies
the world collapses
amidst strangled screams and
shrieking shrapnel
but I am so numb it doesn’t hurt.
I load and shoot
reload and shoot
go through the motions—
so hopelessly futile
after this many days
I can’t even pretend
that it matters.
It doesn’t.

We take the trench and I feel nothing.
No difference between
one grave and the next.
The dead boy beside me is
impossibly young, with
wide, unseeing eyes
cold and empty as my heart.

The author's comments:
In history class we were studying World War I, a topic that has always interested me greatly. Descriptions of trench warfare and other first-hand accounts of the battles inspired me to write this poem from the point of view of a soldier.

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