Into No Mans Land

Mud anchored boots to the trench. One hand gripped the ladder tightly, the other his rifle.
Rain beat the steel helmet, cascading in front of his eyes.
Across cratered fields shells crashed sending pieces of land, machinery and men skywards.
Hands shook from the cold; from the fear.
A shrill whistle, then over the top with just one thought.
“Survive”

Into No Mans Land

dwireland

Bray, Ireland

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trench ww1

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  • Lisa  Jewell
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