ANZAC Poem

Room 9 have just finished our soldiers tale , We had to plan what it would feel like to be in the war and what it would sound and look like, and then we had to follow step by step instructions on what to write and how many lines you have to fill. This is mine:

DUTY OF SUFFRAGE - By Nina

As I was close to dying, I saw something that only a soldier from war could see , traumatized , frightened , innocent men holding guns and red bandages , who have fought for not only their country but there family.

I was trying to march away bravely from the front line , trying not to yell , nor cry.

It  was to hard, I was walking away from bombs , explosions , yells of pain.

I was walking away from dying soldiers.

There was a great pain inside of me ……. Guilt.

We are walking to , well I don’t even know anymore and it more like stumbling than walking.

We all now enjoy cuts, well at least way more than bullet holes.

We are all very lucky if we get away with a cut or a bruises.

Most of us worry over Trench foot or bullet holes or even tics , we consider tics more like tigers really, tics to us are deadly.

We all look worse than the battlefield itself but it does not compare to  our shell shocked minds.

Orders are shouted , but I can’t hear them ,  I don’t know where the other soldiers went,  Suddenly a horrible gas surrounds me.

We are all exhausted , however we gather all the speed in us and slip on our gas masks.

I thought we were all safe until I heard the screams of an innocent man who has been too slow.

You can tell by his hoarse yells that the gas has crept into his lungs , he is struggling.

But there is nothing any of us can do, he is Dying , suffering ….. Dead.

Dead with all the others who have been too slow.

The gas is thick now a green disgusting colour , it is hard to see anyone.

So I decided to crawl one way and avoid the thicker gas up above.

However just about every minute you hear a croaky voice yelling for help as he breathes in the gas , as he struggles for air.

My conrad came rushing towards me , begging for help.

But there was nothing I could do, he was coughing , choking ….. Dying.

What was I supposed to do? After we escaped from the gas I never forgave myself for leaving him.

I should have died with him.

I am so disgusted in what I have just seen and heard, Can you imagine walking behind an old wagon , watching the men dying. And crying out for their mother’s , wife’s , … Family’s. They are all covered in blood , whether it is from bullet holes or shelling , or gas.The dying soldiers are covered in not only blood but dirt and diseases. War hasn’t been kind to any soldier.

Imagine what it is like to see your conrad , lying on the wagon with his eyes staring right at you , tears trickling down his face , his eyeballs are rolled back , and at every bump on the uneven road you’re conrad will spew up a mixture of blood and mucus. The Mucus and blood stream onto the road and you are forced to walk all over it.

The memories of these four years are the worst kind of memories you would be forced to Remember.

These memories are of men suffering from trench foot , men struggling from gas , men crying from bullets , men exploding from shelling ,......... Men dying from war.

If I had a penny for every time I saw a Man yelling for there mother’s or wife’s then I would have enough money to buy our country.