The blistering machine gun revolves inside itself
pushing out molten ammunition upon our path ahead
I can hear the striking metal penetrate the ground
We can feel the tremble of thumping earth our future peril
The harsh ear breaking crackle
the odd round flying over our nest
flicking turf into our eyes flies and pests
whizzing lead wasps looking for flesh to embedd within
The rattle as the last rounds leave the chamber
the hiss and steam as they splash water over it
The cooling off connecting belts and oiling
Spilling blood across the soil and recoiling
We jump from our bomb hole to seize the next trench
But the belt has reconnected the chamber lights up
We stop and aim in that split second the afterlife calls
Those lead wasps burrow into us severing bone and organ
souls robbed before we hit the littered ground
Our mortal remains nothing more than fertilizer
as the coming boomers will wave poppies
and sing lest we forget
But the machine gun lives on
and has long forgotten the death sent
giving life to a trillion lead wasps
who seek skin, seek end
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