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As they march into no man's land
Poem
As metal whistles screamed, the color from the bravest of mens' faces drained as they went marching in to no mans land.
I watched many men fall to the rattle of machine guns, firing metal Pranhas that ate away at patriotic men, waiting for the light to strike on them.
I knew I was next. There is no glory for the dead. They will not be perceived as heroes. They willl be known as the dead of the great war .
I can hear screams from the horror of gas. I saw men reaching for a gasp of clean air, fumbling for a simple box.
Those who haven't seen this may never know how heroic these men were, crawling into death they will never know the true heroes of the great war.
