Poetry

Through the Night

Through the night
I hear the cries of men
And men near death

Through the night,
I hear the shots of a machine gun,
A machine gun on the enemy side.

Through the night,
I hear the bullets flying past my head
As I hay in my freshly dug foxhole.

Through the night,
I think of things back home,
And that I will make it back home alive.

Through the night,
My concentration is constantly distracted,
And I cannot fall asleep,
However when morning comes,
I must rise from my foxhole,
And fight as if I had a good night rest.

I wrote this in the memory of those that lost their lives, and survived during WWII.

Frances Lejeune is a student at Catholic Distance University and is a Theology Major. She is expected to receive her Associates June of 2019. She also writes about day to day life about living with depression, anxiety and loss.

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