Dulce et Decorum Est

 Today in writing we made a poem it was a piece of guided writing, modeled on the poem it was called Dulce et Decorum Est

My terrible experience

We struggle through the mud the mud as high as our thighs . As our chests are in pain as each few seconds we cough we can't stop coughing it hurts .

We all turn our backs on the battle as we march through many soldiers we push and

shove trying to get to safety. We all need rest we are exhausted.  

The pain it stings our feet ache as we stumble and crawl to release the pain from our bare feet . Nothing is clear now I just think I need to get to safety. My ears have stopped working I am zoned out I am not paying attention to the bombshells going of or the gun fires only to rest and find safety.  

There is a emergency I yell  Run Run I say! I Block my mouth turn and stumble away as fast as I could .

I have not got much energy but this is the time to use every little bit of it I have left in me to search through my kit for my gas mask I panic but relief hits me as I put my gas mask on. I turn around the panic comes back one of the soldiers struggling as the gas takes over him it was too late.

The gas has taken over It is difficult to see now the colour of greeny pea soup  has closed in on us the gas clouds swirling around us . I struggle to see anything at this point even my own hand.

As I see my friend frantically running toward me as the gas creeps into his lungs he coughs I feel useless as I know soon he will die I knew that memory would stick with me never being able to forget the look on his face.  

How would you feel Watching your friend you spent many years of your life getting to know them lying in pain on a wagon dieing right in front of you nothing you can do. Hes holding his throat gasping for air still coughing. kicking his legs around struggling moaning in pain.

Just imagine how we felt pushing our friend across the mud the bumpy hills and the holes from the bombshells whilst listening to him dying in pain moaning groaning and kicking his legs around The wagon unstable and rocking around makes the him cough up blood turns into mucus spew.

If you had been in the position we all were in you would never say again that it is glorious and an honour to die for your country. If you had seen what we all had seen you would understand.