• October 12 1917

    Machine-guns, death, cries of pain, and suffering surrounds me. I think of how these moments in this place of hell maybe my last. No one can comprehend what is impacted in my heart. I see my best friends bodies being broken and left on the field like a forgotten object, every enduring minute of every perpetual day. Yet I carry on for you.
    The conditions are even more horrendous than you can imagine. The taste of stale dirt and fear lingers in my cheeks. My feet merge into the bottomless mud. With every step I take, I feel the water squish between the evident wrinkles and creases in my feet, as I run with sweat and blood running into the deep wounds from the rusty barbed wire. I keep running and my body is prostrate, but I’ll do it all for you.
    I long for the tender touch of my gentle baby’s hand, as I think of the soldiers who will never get to see theirs again. How their last words would not be spoken to family, but to strangers. Men that die, and men that take their place, in this never ending game I play, I play this game for you.
    Every anguishing second, I think of you. This keeps me alive, even in the trenches, when danger’s stalking me every step. I’m here fighting, and I’ll make it home for you.