Writing

This week Room 9 had to make a poem based on ANZAc. Miss Fisher gave us a certain thing to write and we had to describe it in a certain amount of lines. I wasn't feeling that good about it because i'm not very poetic but to me i thin that it turned out pretty good.

It says                                                                A Soldier's Time

My soldiers are almost dead. We all have a nasty chest infection. Our trench has been taken over and we were the only ones that flead. I step too close on a mine, bad detection.

Running as fast I; can. The bullets and shells are all behind me. I trip over a rusted pan. I am finally back with my soldiers i know it was bad of me to flee but my squadron needs me.

All of the men in my group are struggling to live.. Can’t see where they're going half of them are blind. Some of them only have socks on that are as thin as a piece of thread. Gas bombs behind we enter a new trench with gas almost all over it we each find a gas mask, a lucky find. There are a lot of soldiers falling to their feet, almost at our original base even though we've left about 52 behind.

“PSHH. GAS boys! Put your masks on and get into cover now! “

We are covered in a massive cloud of green smoke. Most of us have put on our gas masks, except for one, one tired stupid man who could not be bothered putting it on. He runs around and around like a headless chicken. Then the sound of a thud, a dead hand scrapes the edge of my boot. He is gone.

The gas is as thick as a black sky. It is the colour of dark pea green soup. All of us huddle in a bunch to keep each other warm and safe. When it’s all over we have still got the same amount of as before. We are lucky, that was close.

A blood curdling scream. Hands grasp my shoulders and a bad coughing fills the air. My comrade has run away from his gas mask team. To die from the enemy’s gas, it’s just not fair.  

Try and imagine just imagine walking behind that death cart. You are looking straight into a dying man's eyes. They are an airy cloud colour white and his breathing is shallow. But the man who is in the cart making sure that the dead men don’t fall off. Talks to you with a voice soft and mellow. He is dying but still in shock. When he said that it gave you a shiver down your spine. You wonder what his wife would say. His children crying while he is slowly dying.

What does the man sound like? We throw him into the wagon. He is unconscious but he is still breathing, breathing disgusting gurgling shallow breaths. His eyes are burned and white as white. His breathing stops his lungs have stopped and popped.

If you had experience all these things that the soldiers had experienced what do you think you would feel like. Digging trenches,staying up late with the risk of bombs falling on your head and fearing the fact you might never be able to go home again. Never getting to see your families again.Now once you had experienced that, could you say it was sweet and glorious to die for your country.