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.