Blood Fills the Trench

Night fears, gloomy and verve-wracking,

Bayonets' importance lost.

We are in low spirits, wounded or dead in

The Trench, blood and suspense encourage


Rats, repulsive and evil devoured the lost

Who were buried without chance.

Unpolished coffins await the killed, the

Ones who rot in the Trenches.

The enemy, with guns and artillery

Encourage the War.




The alive have suffocated,

The alive have met Death.

Dawn has yet to come, bayonets

Jabbing the wounded.

Day looks like a raging beast;

Evil, repulsive, devoured.

The men are tired,

The fun of War now

Meaningless words:

Dementing, gloomy.

Enemy lines advance, artillery and

Weapons create fountains of

Mud and iron.

Sleep is wished for, the silent blanket

Of calmer atmosphere, where it will end.

The air becomes tense but calmer, heart thumps deadened by silence.

An atmosphere of claustrophobia

Silenced by howls and flashes of exploding light.

Explosions tear the uniform,

The tanks shoot splinters.

Gapped knife tears flesh, blood

Fills the Trench.

Hardly a man speaks, glowering like

Mad dogs, hands tremble on weapons.

Time is motionless, fumes and

Explosions strain to cease the alive.

Death chases us around every corner,

Every movement, every retreat.

The Trenches, broken bits and craters, blood and teeth scattered.

Muscles ache, the fight, the War grows with ferocity.

Fear, madness, greed of life has terrifically

Binding strain, casualties increasing.

The earth is torn, blasted, the background of the War,

The restless, gloomy world.

Our souls shattered, pierced by

Dementing Death, suffocating and


A bomb silences the War, the pursuit

Of the enemy.

Grenades are thrown into the Trench,

Smoke and groans fill the air.

The dead are in a large shell-hole, eternal

Sleep consuming the unlucky.

The Trench, the shell-hole,

Turned into one grave,

One yard of dead men,

A barren wasteland from

The War.






Gabrielle Paris


Period 7 World History

Excerpts from All Quiet on the Western Front