by Ryan Novak

With butterflies in our eyes, we reach over the line
Shot down before you even tried
Suffering no longer, the trenches are dry
The shelling has stopped

No one wants to push the line
Afraid to be shot down
Opportunities squandered, complacency builds
No need to advance on The Hill

No need for resupply
Full is the cask and flask alike
Only shortage of smokes it at night
For fear of the darkness, or becoming a light

Luxuries in a war amongst people
Preferred are illusions of security
Opposed to excitement and danger
The like of which accompany even the most peaceful of progress

As the ripple of hope undulates
The water stills behind its front
Un-tempered will and timidity are favored
Contentment in the trenches amid the slurry of war

Lounging in the trenches
Uncultivated in their duties
Naivety ensconced by night
A settlement for easier living

Awaiting their own right to relief
Righteous acts, left for the next to fill the trenches
The outgoing, left nothing the better
The oncoming, left in disbelief

The line does not advance
Luxuries dilute the terrors
Chin to chest, praying for the best
Fated, they just waited for the next

All the while our fellows of flesh
Find hell to pay in the East
Our efforts are least and for us, best
All’s quiet on the Western front

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