This is Where I Belong

Terry Trainor By Terry Trainor, 14th Dec 2012 | Follow this author | RSS Feed
Posted in Wikinut>Writing>Poetry

A soldier in the Great War is confused. He has been living in the trenches at Mons for a very long time. He has almost forgotten his past life and believes that the trenches are his home, his fellow soldiers his friends and family.

This is Where I Belong

Walking along a maze of muddy walls stepping over rotting young men their boots gone,
Taking the scenes for granted as this is all I know and cannot even remember my home,
The trenched walkways are like the streets I dream about when my eyes close so tight,
Not long ago I dreamed about a house it was warm and there such lovely rich smells.

My new garden is muddy, wet the earth turned is fresh and mellow but has many dug outs,
Look closely at my garden and there is beauty in it's blackness but not in the smell,
In tiny enclosed spaces my flowers spring up so very delicate and shimmer in sunlight,
I am looking at a snowdrop it has lifted it's graceful head it is scared and lonely on its own.

In my new world my home is mud, my chair and my bed is made of mud and it's very noisy,
People cry in the dead of night such gut wrenching long bitter sobs I wonder where they are,
Do they think of their mums and dads, or could it be a sweetheart going out having a great time,
Maybe it's an older man who is married with children if he ever returns will they know him.

Back in a small corner of my confused mind I see Almond-tree blossom on leafless trees,
There catkins from plants and trees I don't know their names one might have been willow,
In that same corner there are woods with warm banks and green things starting a new life,
One name I remember is the star of Bethlehem in moist meadows but the rest are forgotten.

I am lucky I have always been here my mind knows no home no loved ones nobody nothing,
This is my home these people I live with are family and friends they do not last very long'
They disappear for ever then new people move in every day most stay away from me at first,
Once they have been here for a few months they talk to me then they are my new friends.

Every day we have to run across the thick muddy fields and we get shot at I just walk across,
Men around me fall down all that is left, all that remains are bones, uniforms and tin hats,
Hands reach out for help and plead to their god to help them in this their last few minutes,
Another whistle blows and it is time to walk back and sadly leave my sleeping friends forever.


Confused, Garden, Garden Flowers, New France, New Friends, Smell Of Decomposition, Smells

Meet the author

author avatar Terry Trainor
I am a Poet.
My passion is to write about nature and the history of nature.

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author avatar Stella Mitchell
14th Dec 2012 (#)

As always , poetry in motion . Sad and desolate , but what a write !

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author avatar Terry Trainor
15th Dec 2012 (#)

Morning Stella and how are you this dark dingy morning. Thank you for your comments they give me so much confidence. Bless You.

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author avatar Stella Mitchell
15th Dec 2012 (#)

I missed this reply earlier Terry . I am well thank you , and have been so engrossed in writing or reading that the weather passed me by ,but I am so glad my comments bless you and give you so much confidence , they are well deserved. I tend to be more inspired if I am encouraged . It brings out the best in us all. So be encouraged to keep going . Higher and Onward, as they say

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author avatar Robb714
15th Dec 2012 (#)

What Stella said!

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author avatar Terry Trainor
15th Dec 2012 (#)

Thank you Robb714 you are so very kind.

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