I smell the blood and despair
It seeps through the linens of my fallen comrades
Mustard gas explodes, and soon my brothers are gasping
Trying to fill their lungs with air that does not seem to exist.

It’s as if I am in grade five again
Suffering from an asthma attack,
Other kids pierce my heart with names and laugher,
Unaware they themselves are causing more pain than the attack.
But now I hear no laughter or tomfoolery,
The only sound ringing in my ears is my brethren trying to cling to life.

I see men craving to wake up from this nightmare,
Yearning for their mothers to come and tell them,
“It was only a dream.”
Fire dances on the tip of my tongue,
as I beckon orders to these sorrowed souls.
And as I look up, the wind, coated with agony
Brushes against my furrowed skin
War is hell.