Before I start, I should explain – my poetry (at least so far) is from the perspective of two fictional characters. In this case, it’s a soldier from Third Ypres.
Also, Triversen – six sentences, each split over three lines – is another form I’ve not done before, so hopefully it works (and isn’t too cringeworthy)
Friends Underfoot
The mud and sludge
and blood and crunch
of frost and friend underfoot.
Merry Christmas
I say as I pass
leaving them forever.
Advancing always,
the General’s needs and
and his will done.
Still we go forwards,
– volunteered or fated? –
until we’re gone.
To end all wars is
a noble aim but not
the only end.
There is no more mud
sludge, or blood
for frost or underfoot friends.
It works.