Between the Crosses, Row on Row

[mydoom.exe 5,154]

Between the Crosses, Row on Row

 

 

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,

 

It was never my choice to go to war. I was conscripted, drafted into this hellish place by the British army, simply because I was over 18 and a part of the Commonwealth. My friends, old and new, didn't want this either. I suppose my new friends don't have much of a choice now, considering how the German poison gas put them 6 feet under. Wooden markers help them be remembered by, but it is still saddening to know that there are many more without even that much of a grave.

 

That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly

 

The complete irony of the whole situation is that there is still beauty hidden in this war zone. Every morning, the sun warms the land, bathing it in an orange glow that soon turns a mystical green-yellow with the daily bombardments of poison gas. The late afternoon sky is a bright blue, and some soldiers have told me that they wished they were carrier pigeons, which have freedom up there. I agree with them - the smoke from the endless fires burning doesn't even touch the clarity of the heavens. It would be peaceful up there...

 

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

 

...if it weren't for the mortar guns and missile barrages. Before the sun rises at 5 sharp, the constant pound of artillery smashing into the ground and any poor soul unlucky enough to be on it wakes the whole platoon up. I would be grudging, but I really can't blame the enemy for attacking us, considering as to how we softened them up with our own big guns just a few weeks ago.

 

We are the Dead. Short days ago

 

Nobody from either side has lived to get to the trenches on the enemy side. The machine gun nests, British and German, confused by the smokescreens the French have tried to aid us with, shoot down anything that moves, finding out later if it was a friend, foe, or innocent. 

 

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

 

With all the hatred building up on both sides, it is easy to forget that each soldier was someone's son, someone's brother, someone's father, someone's husband. Each side only views the other as a monster and not a human being. Not a human being that appreciates going down to the beachside to view the waves, not a living being that loved someone, and not a special someone who, deep down inside, only wants the fighting to stop. They are viewed as enemies. Cold-hearted enemies.

 

Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders Fields.

 

Much too many people, not enemies, people, lie beneath the ground, waiting for the end of time. It is saddening, because this kind of suffering and evil can only attract yet more suffering and evil.

 

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

 

I have had thoughts, terrifying thoughts, that I certainly hope will never come to pass, of a second massacre of a war happening in the near future. The losers of this war will certainly wish for revenge. All of this needless sacrifice, and for what? Surely a few square miles of land is worth less than a whole generation of young men, along with many generations of trust.

 

To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.

 

I, myself, am dying as well. Everyone here is, in either mind or body. My own case involves lying in a tent poorly pitched on mud, hastily called a field hospital. The nurses and doctors come and go, letters are received, others are sent. The army censors screen out anything but glory of the battlefield, but they cannot screen me out. Everyone I know surely can tell that I am dying, from the few hints bypassing the mail office's warden.

 

If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

 

I know I will not live to see the end of the war, who will live, who will die, which side wins, and which one loses. Many others will join me in wherever the dead go after Earthly life, and so I don't want their sacrifices to be forgotten. Instead of listening to the politicians, who, even though they have not so much as seen this quagmire of blood and mud, cry for more war, listen to us, who have actually been there. Stop this madness. Nobody who has truly experienced it will ever love it, and only those who have lived and died here will know that no man or woman should ever experience things as we did. Don't break your faith in us, for we won't break our faith in you.

 

In Flanders Fields.

Edited August 6, 2016 by mydoom.exe

[BLASTER872 1,892]

Nice, a more serious type of article.

[mydoom.exe 5,154]

Nice, a more serious type of article.

Well, that was the most voted type on that one poll I set up, so...

 

I delivered.

[M-axis 589]

Very nice article indeed! Must have taken ages to write, I just can't do articles like this :huh:  :unsure:

[Hex 11,520]

Wow, nice!

[ToHoYoNTaDa 1,147]

Jood :ph34r:

[mydoom.exe 5,154]

Very nice article indeed! Must have taken ages to write, I just can't do articles like this :huh:  :unsure:

Yeah, it took forever. One whole hour of my time! :P

 

 

Jood :ph34r:

Kood  :ph34r:

 

 

Wow, nice!

Thenks

[M-axis 589]

lol, thankfully my article A lieutenant's Perspective only took 45 minutes, plus it isn't even half as good in the 'look' as yours XD

[mydoom.exe 5,154]

lol, thankfully my article A lieutenant's Perspective only took 45 minutes, plus it isn't even half as good in the 'look' as yours XD

Oh, the looks? Pffft, just changed the colours to something suitable - dark blue, changed the fonts to match, and done. 10 minutes max.

[Zenyth 6,494]

Awesome.