War by Alaric Johnson

The sight of bodies the smell of blood,
Makes me sick I don’t feel to good,
I’m in a trench with a couple other guys,
All I can think is why
Gunshots, explosions, screaming,
I pinch myself am I dreaming,
I wonder why this war Is happening,
I am sitting in a muddy trench questioning
A poppy falls into the palm of my hand,
I wonder if this is my next command,
A silent thud on my shoulder,
I feel weak as my hands get colder
Among the rows of poppies.