Armistice (from a trench rat’s perspective)

Left behind in this redundant trench;

No noise to drown and earth stock still,

How we hanker for that savoured sweet stench,

That signalled belly’s void to gorge up to its fill.

As they strained, battled against each others lair,

We dined liked kings from their wasteful plate.

Until they stopped gifting such wondrous fare;

Never a thought for us, our needs - our fate.

Thrown back into battle, against our old deadly foe;

Hunger, slow death, stalks this now useless ditch,

And life on the edge is how we must go.

Why did they cease from making us rich?

But somehow we know, from aeons past gone,

The chains they use to tether their beast

Will never be enough to arrest it for long,

And then, once more, on flesh we will feast.