“Soldiers are citizens of death’s gray land, means life or death maybe, they thought of fire lit homes when the guns began, knock-kneed limped on, blood-shod, bonds to the whims of murder, great hour of destiny, they stand, Obscene as cancer, forced to fight on their homeland, Soldiers are citizens of death’s gray land, to cross the sleeping green between, but still they stare untroubled as he stands and mocked by hopeless longing to regain.”
This is a poem my peers and I had mad libbed from four different World War I poems. Those four were Dolce Est Decorum Est- WILFRED OWEN, Break Of Day In The Trenches by ISAAC ROSENBURG, The Conscript- WILFRED GIBSON, Dreamers- SIEGFRIED SASSON. All of them talk about death, the suffering of soldiers, the longing for home, or the misconceptions of war. Our poem is about the death always owning the soldiers. When they die on the battlefield, death has taken them there and they will remain on death’s land. When they are living and fighting they are the citizens of death’s gray land because so many have died on that soil that they see dead bodies everywhere and always look at death taking another and another. When they’re friends die and comrades, they’re feelings for a person belong to death’s gray land.