Sunrise over Paschendale

The battle rages further on, The chance of vic`try long since gone, But still I’m here, alone and still, To dread upon that moment till The sun comes up to bring forth light, And cast away concealing night, That hid me from their soldiers’ hate, And judgment for eternal fate. I lay bent in a pool of blood, Among the casings, shells, and mud, A crater made by man’s own hand, Artillery wounds that scar the land, There’s no one `round to save my life, Just me, my rifle, map, and knife, For all around me as I lay, The War prepares for light of day. But things were better once for me, A soldier proud for my country, For nation I did fiercely fight, Through stormy day and frigid night, Advancing through the battle’s stench, Then static war from field to trench, Then fate reversed the tides of war, And charging forth came the Seventh Corp. They attacked us while we ate our meal, And ran through us like heat through steel, Their entire Corp, my one Brigade, My men fell fast with every raid, But still we fought, men blind to fear, Charging from the sides and then the rear, But the enemy would flank our right, And the setting sun turned day to night. It was in the night that I would fall, Artillery fire had struck us all, And all around me lay the dead, Of the men whom I had trained and led, But there I lay in dreadful pain, Dripping wet from nighttime rain, The night had seen the war move on, The sound of battle now was gone. This night would see the conflict close, With countless deaths of friends and foes, But soon they’d scour the fields they’d fought, For adversaries to be shot, But not till morning will they come, With early rising of the sun, But thoughts of fear I’ll not allow, My Day of Judgment nears me now. I know not what awaits my fate, Or how to God my life shall rate, But death I am prepared to take, Life’s forfeit came for other’s sake, But still the question lingers on, Will He the Lord know me as son? And as I lay awaiting doom, I see the sunrise start to loom, Above the pink clouds in the east, The night, like me, is soon deceased. For each good soldier bid farewell, One goes to heaven… and one to hell. Well Mark, I couldn't write a poem on the Battle of Hastings, but how about the Third Battle of Ypres from World War I (also known as the Battle of Paschendale)? I started writing this one without any real idea of what it was going to be about, and on it's own it developed into this, taken from the German perspective (which I'm still not sure why) and describing a soldier contemplating his eternal fate (once again, not a direction I thought it would go). Hope you all enjoy.