The Otherside

A poem written from the perspective of a young soldier during WWI, and his thoughts before he goes over into No Man's Land (I wrote this for a poetry competition at our local legion when I was 15)

The Otherside, by Christina Muldoon

I'm sitting here in the rain, 

waiting for the hour.
Sitting here in the pre-dawn darkness
I look up and see a flower.
It's a tiny thing, only a bud
but a beautiful sight to behold.
Its such a change from all Ive seen,
like shelter from the cold.
As I look at this glory of nature,
my hands begin to quake.
My dread, my anger, my hopelessness hit;
Im not sure how much I can take.

As I sit here in a dank, wet trench,
suddenly, I can't help but wonder...
On the otherside, is there one who thinks this
while all around him goes asunder?
Who is he when he is out of the trench?
How does he live his life?
Like me, does he pray for his children?
Remember when he last kissed his wife?
We're told to hate the Enemy
for we 'know' what he plans to do.
But on the otherside, in another's eyes,
for no reason, am I hated too?

The Devil's clock strikes six AM
and battle cries are sounding.
We jump up out of our cold sanctuaries,
minds racing and hearts pounding.
Something passes through my body,
hot and full of hate.
Then, I see it in front of me:
The beautiful Heavenly Gate.
Before I enter the Kingdom of God,
I turn around to see
the nineteen year old Canadian boy
who has just shot and killed me.
He breaks down next to my body
out of agony and of fear,
and down his youthful cheek
rolls a single, muddy tear.
This is the man I was trained to hate;
he now mourns my death.
He is the one who is holding my hand
as I am taking my last breath.
We are no different, he and I.
After all, we breathe the same air.
And now we shall die as brothers
On this field of death and despair.

Before I go, the last thing I see
is on the Otherside.
Its the bud I saw, a poppy,
mourning us who have just died.