Patriot’s Hell: poem by James Kavanagh

Patriot’s Hell

By The Newsroom

Published 25th Oct 2013, 07:05 BST

Photo by REX/Courtesy Everett Collection (3001762a)
An Australian soldier carrying a wounded comrade during World War I. — Photo by REX/Courtesy Everett Collection (3001762a) An Australian soldier carrying a wounded comrade during World War I.

Photo by REX/Courtesy Everett Collection (3001762a)
An Australian soldier carrying a wounded comrade during World War I. — Photo by REX/Courtesy Everett Collection (3001762a) An Australian soldier carrying a wounded comrade during World War I.

I have turned hollow,

Mankind will slowly age,

Among the trees of sorrow,

I will slowly turn the page.

Running through the sand,

Bombs whistling left and right,

Having to follow command,

I have to stand and fight.

Shots flying all around,

Some people falling with no head,

I soon follow without a sound,

“Am I really dead?”

I wake up in a bed,

The shot went deep,

I should be dead,

I should be asleep.

I have turned hollow,

Among the trees of sorrow.

By James Kavanagh (14)

Burnley