The Mourning Charge by Devin Pavlischak/ November 28th, 2015 ©

It was noon in the autumn air, the world seemed to stop.

I could feel the bead of sweat, gently snaking down my neck.

As if the adrenaline came alive, we are on our toes for the next.

Slowly we grip the bayonets, laying there in the mud.

Attaching certain death, yearning for the enemy in call.

The captains blaring whistle yelled to our war cry.

Raising the ladder, we charged.

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