Charles J. Ingerson


A hollow in the ground
wishing it to be deeper
is where I’m now found
in wait for a night seeker.

Sometimes so very alone
as is this lost battlefield
where others call home
the earth them to yield.

Rain sometimes pouring
filling this hole of mine
as flares overhead soaring
marking slowly the time

None allowed to move
with orders to shoot first
warnings one to behoove
quenched never my thirst.

Thus within the darkness
hovers this moment of life
feelings which seem endless
amid war and this strife

A foxhole isn’t much to see
and when left so all alone
it’s hard to believe I’m free
in what’s called home.