I feel like i am living in a trench of self despair right now. my mother in law just got diagnosed with a very aggressive and terminal cancer. our hearts are breaking. how do we climb out and enjoy the rest of her life….as short as it is? how do we wake up each morning ready to embrace her, make her laugh and love her when we know it’s just a matter of time before her energy and presence is gone?
Lynn995
I jumped into the trenches. “Watch out for the 50 cal!” I cried! I ran down the trench and hit my fellow soldiers on the head. “Stay frosty fellas!” I yelled. It was all a dream.
The smell of the trench was unbareble. It was as if it was in my very mind, driving me insane. My very being pushed away and all that was left was the horrid stench. The water reached my mid thigh, weighing me down.
And they crawled out of it and were not clean or ever the same again. No one would care and that would be the hardest thing to get over. Not the wounds.
Gayanthi
I was walking through the trench. The smell of the place was unbareble, but I knew I had to keep on walking. It was a strange sensation, the water up to my mid-thighs, the humidity bending my thoughts into horride shapes.
Jack V
the trenches of war far is the first thing i think about especially since WWI is the theme for next year. I love that time period, it really shows the transition between the gilded age and the roaring twenties. A definite loss of innocence like a 14-18 year old.
the trenches of war far is the first thing i think about especially since wwi is the theme for next year. I love that time period, it really shows the transition between the guilded age and the roaring twenties. a definite loss of innocence like a 14-18 year old.
Something with water in the ground though a kind of river I think
Fredy
So, you’re gonna buy this trench or what?
It was a truly beautiful trench coat. Grim colour, rough edges, and full of scratch marks. God, he loved this thing. Everyone would think he’s such a mysterious person! Oh, golly, if that didn’t excite him.
The trench was wet and soggy. My pants were soaked through and I shivered. Before I could process what was happening, I hear him shouting.
“Yes Sir!” the men around me chorused.
I follow down the narrow trench, tripping on bodies and rocks and mud.
whippedcreamroses
I remember you most in
frayed gray trenchcoats
and the way you always
said mysteries don’t end
with their solutions.
There were questions
left unanswered
when you took off
unnamed under a fedora
that shaded your eyes
from the reality
that you were
never coming back.
And I took every
single clue there was
to try and map out
the fingerprints
you left all over my memory
and an attempt at
looking for notes
that resembled
your handwriting
because I refused
to believe that
there were mysteries
that weren’t made
to be figured out.
Because the only
things I allowed
to be unsolvable
were people
as dysfunctional
as you.
And maybe I was
just unprepared
to face the truth
of how improbable
the evidence left was
because I tried to
prove to myself
that it was impossible
that I couldn’t
defy the logic
that came with
your deductions
so effortlessly.
It was difficult to accept
that you were right
when you said
that mysteries
don’t always end
with their solutions.
Because I couldn’t
find you anywhere-
my eyes could
only assume
to see you
everywhere.
“Are you sure your a vampire? You don’t look like the chick in Underworld..” He pondered, hesitant of my confession.
I smiled, allowing a hint of my fangs peek through. Amazing how Hollywood stereotypes can affect even the undead. ” We don’t all wear leather and trench coats Aidan…. Oh and no I don’t sparkle.”
He cocked his head, still unsure. “What about a bat, do you turn into a bat?”
Rolling my eyes, I shook my head. “Serious? no. I just…… I just have a high prey drive…..”
“You would look cool in leather and a trench coat……”
the trench is deep, wide, and dirty. i can’t see through anything.
halfbright
World War 1 or 2, too stupid to know which one. Used to hide from the enemy. A lot of soldiers died in there. Dangerous. Small. Claustrophobic? I suppose I wouldn’t know, I wasn’t really born in the 1930’s. :/ sorry?
Martha
The fear has left, the pain becoming a dull distant memory. I could feel my heart slowing it’s pace, my breaths becoming softer. My limp body felt a wave of relaxation, yet my limbs seemed to weigh a ton. The warmth of blood trickling down my throat, bathed my long blonde hair in crimson. My eyes danced about searching for any sign of rescue, but finding only the bare trench which held my body. How fitting that I lay in the trench created of hard angry dirt which once housed the ferocious life of a river. I too would soon be dry, gone forever. I closed my eyes, my tears calling for the darkness to take me so I could be reborn, I could finally become what I had always meant to be.
Let it change your life.
Face into the moment, the fire, the war waging since before we were born.
Since before mankind was born.
Face into the fire – let it change your life.
Fall deep within the foxhole, trust your savior to stand up.
Do not give up on yourself.
Do not give up on your creator.
Do not kill one another.
Let the fear change your life.
I live in a trench and its disgusting
Ewwwwwwwww it’s stinky just ewww
Destiny.R
His arm was stuck in that trench.
Gigi
“You’re under arrest for the murder of Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you. You have the right to an attorney If you cannot afford an attorney one will be provided for you….” I didn’t listen to the rest of it. One minute I was watching Kareem’s Jersey retirement, the next I was staring horrified at the news of his murder. And an hour later I was being hassled into a SWAT van heading, not for the city jail but a place I’ve never heard of, for some terrorist camp. I was dizzily staring out the barred and bullet proof window, blinking in and out of sleep..
I had no idea what was going on. I had screamed and yelled objection and misunderstanding when I was being taken in to no avail. The soldiers sighed, as if they hear the same every day (which they probably do). I had cried. I had screamed. I had yelled and punched and kicked and I threw the biggest hissy fit a brawny 19 year old could manage. I even managed to land a very solid punch to a masked SWAT member. Unfortunetly, he was the one to cuff me…. It was a lot tighter than it should have been..
I was still pretty hazy when a man in a trench coat walked into a interrogation type room to address me. It seemed like he doesn’t get many kid terrorist cause he was pretty shocked to see my battered, bruised, but still young face.
*Ahem*
I disregarded. Looking at my shoes.
*AHEMMMMMMM*
Stare
“Kid are you gonna look up before I cough up all my intestines?!”
“What the hell can I help you with dude?” I wasn’t exactly in cuddle-mode. I was pretty angry… And let’s just say my mother’s hired anger management hadn’t helped the least bit. I was pretty goddamn close to breaking my cuffs and slugging someone….. Dear God help this man from me…
Jonathan Ragheb
Trench warfare. Brutally cruel. Cruelly brutal. Over-the-top. Even worse.
Megan
A seemingly endless pit, filled with what can be seen as hopelessness and tragedy. Yet there is a certain beauty about the trench–how something can reach so far down into the earth, and unlock its secrets. Show us a world we are not used to, and have yet to explore.
Spencer
Trench was full of water. Hot horses, running without any break, greadily dreank could water. it wasn’t good for them..
The smell of the chocolate cake entered the room as a ray of sunshine on a Sunday morning. The trench where it was placed looked familiar although I could not remember where I had last seen it.
Tears tumble like vinegar down the deep trenches in her face, streaming over the crevices of her faded old skin and splashing onto the face of the dried old photograph. It was a haunting mirror, only half true now and stuck desperately in the past as she looked on at the handsome young couple smiling back at her in smudged black and white.
A tear for every year.
She sniffed back the flood and accepted a terrifying peace in feeling closer to him today than she had since he drowned in the trenches seventy years ago.
i’m in the trench with nothing but a shovel.
Keep digging they say.
This will all be over soon they say.
I don’t really believe them of course,
but what choice do I have?
I’m stuck in this foreign country with nothing.
Except my shovel.
Emily R.
They were huddled in the earth. The shelling ceased for the moment. Steven trembled choking back sobs. Scared of the the obvious impending death shuddering all around them.
gigi cohen
My brother made a trench for his WWII project. I remember him and my dad spending hours in the conservatory with bottles of brown and green paint, and my mum complaining that she had been given the tedious job of making the barbed wire fence.
Meg
I work there almost every day. I think about being there, peeking out over the top to see who’s there. When I look at work this way, I think of the millions of soldiers who’ve hidden there and how hard it must have been for all of them. This is no trench. This is life. They faced death every day.
s
there are a lot of trenches on the streets these days when they are amending the roads. those create a lot of troubles for people who tr
thoan
dug down deep and finding no way out. it’s like that when the depression takes residence beside me. the problem is that i dug it. i took spade and shovel to what could have been a normal day, even a beautiful day and dug the hole.
janet arelis quezada
She opened the trench coat as though she was a flasher from the 60’s. The security checkpoints and pat down searches had become a necessary annoyance to her day. She wished that she could just, for once, carry all her things into the building without having to load and unload like a pack mule. And she knew, for certain, that Baliff Truman enjoyed these pat downs just a litte too much.
Melissa Walbridge
The good thing about a good stumble is not only were humbled, but it’s just a small tumble. In the unlikely event you fall in a trench, there’s likely a good reason for it.
You weren’t paying attention.
The good thing about getting back up is the chuckle you have at yourself.
It’s less of a live and let learn thing if you drag others in with you. Some paths are meant for higher purpose, others solely for contemplation. Sometimes it would be easy to confuse the two, but you shouldn’t. It’s how you get distracted.
A trench is a place that I never want to be. It’s probably a lonely place. You dig a trench to stop something.. .to hide something… provides safety? Think not! Don’t build a trench.
Aaron Rath
The signature of Burberry. A versitille and beautiful garment that can translate across ages, sexes and generations.
Michael Stopps
He grabbed his trench coat and slipped it over his shoulders as he made his way to the front door. He appeared calm to his family but he was in fact, nervous and panicky to the point that his hands are trembling.
“I know what you did. Meet me at the grave in an hour.” the voice rang in his head.
He could not get rid of the bad vibes. He had killed a man after all.
I feel like i am living in a trench of self despair right now. my mother in law just got diagnosed with a very aggressive and terminal cancer. our hearts are breaking. how do we climb out and enjoy the rest of her life….as short as it is? how do we wake up each morning ready to embrace her, make her laugh and love her when we know it’s just a matter of time before her energy and presence is gone?
I jumped into the trenches. “Watch out for the 50 cal!” I cried! I ran down the trench and hit my fellow soldiers on the head. “Stay frosty fellas!” I yelled. It was all a dream.
The smell of the trench was unbareble. It was as if it was in my very mind, driving me insane. My very being pushed away and all that was left was the horrid stench. The water reached my mid thigh, weighing me down.
A deep…mess.
And they crawled out of it and were not clean or ever the same again. No one would care and that would be the hardest thing to get over. Not the wounds.
I was walking through the trench. The smell of the place was unbareble, but I knew I had to keep on walking. It was a strange sensation, the water up to my mid-thighs, the humidity bending my thoughts into horride shapes.
the trenches of war far is the first thing i think about especially since WWI is the theme for next year. I love that time period, it really shows the transition between the gilded age and the roaring twenties. A definite loss of innocence like a 14-18 year old.
our kisses aren’t bullets
and our f-cking isn’t
gunfire.
the sheets aren’t white flags
and drawing blood isn’t
a patriotic act.
it’s only our bodies on the line
and history has no time
for real emotion.
it’s not a war
until someone loses.
it’s not love
if you have to surrender.
(though i suppose your moans
are an anthem
since they move me to tears.)
the trenches of war far is the first thing i think about especially since wwi is the theme for next year. I love that time period, it really shows the transition between the guilded age and the roaring twenties. a definite loss of innocence like a 14-18 year old.
a pain in your body? or a root from a tree
Something with water in the ground though a kind of river I think
So, you’re gonna buy this trench or what?
It was a truly beautiful trench coat. Grim colour, rough edges, and full of scratch marks. God, he loved this thing. Everyone would think he’s such a mysterious person! Oh, golly, if that didn’t excite him.
The trench was wet and soggy. My pants were soaked through and I shivered. Before I could process what was happening, I hear him shouting.
“Yes Sir!” the men around me chorused.
I follow down the narrow trench, tripping on bodies and rocks and mud.
I remember you most in
frayed gray trenchcoats
and the way you always
said mysteries don’t end
with their solutions.
There were questions
left unanswered
when you took off
unnamed under a fedora
that shaded your eyes
from the reality
that you were
never coming back.
And I took every
single clue there was
to try and map out
the fingerprints
you left all over my memory
and an attempt at
looking for notes
that resembled
your handwriting
because I refused
to believe that
there were mysteries
that weren’t made
to be figured out.
Because the only
things I allowed
to be unsolvable
were people
as dysfunctional
as you.
And maybe I was
just unprepared
to face the truth
of how improbable
the evidence left was
because I tried to
prove to myself
that it was impossible
that I couldn’t
defy the logic
that came with
your deductions
so effortlessly.
It was difficult to accept
that you were right
when you said
that mysteries
don’t always end
with their solutions.
Because I couldn’t
find you anywhere-
my eyes could
only assume
to see you
everywhere.
“Are you sure your a vampire? You don’t look like the chick in Underworld..” He pondered, hesitant of my confession.
I smiled, allowing a hint of my fangs peek through. Amazing how Hollywood stereotypes can affect even the undead. ” We don’t all wear leather and trench coats Aidan…. Oh and no I don’t sparkle.”
He cocked his head, still unsure. “What about a bat, do you turn into a bat?”
Rolling my eyes, I shook my head. “Serious? no. I just…… I just have a high prey drive…..”
“You would look cool in leather and a trench coat……”
the trench is deep, wide, and dirty. i can’t see through anything.
World War 1 or 2, too stupid to know which one. Used to hide from the enemy. A lot of soldiers died in there. Dangerous. Small. Claustrophobic? I suppose I wouldn’t know, I wasn’t really born in the 1930’s. :/ sorry?
The fear has left, the pain becoming a dull distant memory. I could feel my heart slowing it’s pace, my breaths becoming softer. My limp body felt a wave of relaxation, yet my limbs seemed to weigh a ton. The warmth of blood trickling down my throat, bathed my long blonde hair in crimson. My eyes danced about searching for any sign of rescue, but finding only the bare trench which held my body. How fitting that I lay in the trench created of hard angry dirt which once housed the ferocious life of a river. I too would soon be dry, gone forever. I closed my eyes, my tears calling for the darkness to take me so I could be reborn, I could finally become what I had always meant to be.
Let it change your life.
Face into the moment, the fire, the war waging since before we were born.
Since before mankind was born.
Face into the fire – let it change your life.
Fall deep within the foxhole, trust your savior to stand up.
Do not give up on yourself.
Do not give up on your creator.
Do not kill one another.
Let the fear change your life.
I live in a trench and its disgusting
Ewwwwwwwww it’s stinky just ewww
His arm was stuck in that trench.
“You’re under arrest for the murder of Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you. You have the right to an attorney If you cannot afford an attorney one will be provided for you….” I didn’t listen to the rest of it. One minute I was watching Kareem’s Jersey retirement, the next I was staring horrified at the news of his murder. And an hour later I was being hassled into a SWAT van heading, not for the city jail but a place I’ve never heard of, for some terrorist camp. I was dizzily staring out the barred and bullet proof window, blinking in and out of sleep..
I had no idea what was going on. I had screamed and yelled objection and misunderstanding when I was being taken in to no avail. The soldiers sighed, as if they hear the same every day (which they probably do). I had cried. I had screamed. I had yelled and punched and kicked and I threw the biggest hissy fit a brawny 19 year old could manage. I even managed to land a very solid punch to a masked SWAT member. Unfortunetly, he was the one to cuff me…. It was a lot tighter than it should have been..
I was still pretty hazy when a man in a trench coat walked into a interrogation type room to address me. It seemed like he doesn’t get many kid terrorist cause he was pretty shocked to see my battered, bruised, but still young face.
*Ahem*
I disregarded. Looking at my shoes.
*AHEMMMMMMM*
Stare
“Kid are you gonna look up before I cough up all my intestines?!”
“What the hell can I help you with dude?” I wasn’t exactly in cuddle-mode. I was pretty angry… And let’s just say my mother’s hired anger management hadn’t helped the least bit. I was pretty goddamn close to breaking my cuffs and slugging someone….. Dear God help this man from me…
Trench warfare. Brutally cruel. Cruelly brutal. Over-the-top. Even worse.
A seemingly endless pit, filled with what can be seen as hopelessness and tragedy. Yet there is a certain beauty about the trench–how something can reach so far down into the earth, and unlock its secrets. Show us a world we are not used to, and have yet to explore.
Trench was full of water. Hot horses, running without any break, greadily dreank could water. it wasn’t good for them..
what does trench means? I don’t know lol
The trench coat was to big.
The smell of the chocolate cake entered the room as a ray of sunshine on a Sunday morning. The trench where it was placed looked familiar although I could not remember where I had last seen it.
Tears tumble like vinegar down the deep trenches in her face, streaming over the crevices of her faded old skin and splashing onto the face of the dried old photograph. It was a haunting mirror, only half true now and stuck desperately in the past as she looked on at the handsome young couple smiling back at her in smudged black and white.
A tear for every year.
She sniffed back the flood and accepted a terrifying peace in feeling closer to him today than she had since he drowned in the trenches seventy years ago.
i’m in the trench with nothing but a shovel.
Keep digging they say.
This will all be over soon they say.
I don’t really believe them of course,
but what choice do I have?
I’m stuck in this foreign country with nothing.
Except my shovel.
They were huddled in the earth. The shelling ceased for the moment. Steven trembled choking back sobs. Scared of the the obvious impending death shuddering all around them.
My brother made a trench for his WWII project. I remember him and my dad spending hours in the conservatory with bottles of brown and green paint, and my mum complaining that she had been given the tedious job of making the barbed wire fence.
I work there almost every day. I think about being there, peeking out over the top to see who’s there. When I look at work this way, I think of the millions of soldiers who’ve hidden there and how hard it must have been for all of them. This is no trench. This is life. They faced death every day.
there are a lot of trenches on the streets these days when they are amending the roads. those create a lot of troubles for people who tr
dug down deep and finding no way out. it’s like that when the depression takes residence beside me. the problem is that i dug it. i took spade and shovel to what could have been a normal day, even a beautiful day and dug the hole.
She opened the trench coat as though she was a flasher from the 60’s. The security checkpoints and pat down searches had become a necessary annoyance to her day. She wished that she could just, for once, carry all her things into the building without having to load and unload like a pack mule. And she knew, for certain, that Baliff Truman enjoyed these pat downs just a litte too much.
The good thing about a good stumble is not only were humbled, but it’s just a small tumble. In the unlikely event you fall in a trench, there’s likely a good reason for it.
You weren’t paying attention.
The good thing about getting back up is the chuckle you have at yourself.
It’s less of a live and let learn thing if you drag others in with you. Some paths are meant for higher purpose, others solely for contemplation. Sometimes it would be easy to confuse the two, but you shouldn’t. It’s how you get distracted.
A trench is a place that I never want to be. It’s probably a lonely place. You dig a trench to stop something.. .to hide something… provides safety? Think not! Don’t build a trench.
The signature of Burberry. A versitille and beautiful garment that can translate across ages, sexes and generations.
He grabbed his trench coat and slipped it over his shoulders as he made his way to the front door. He appeared calm to his family but he was in fact, nervous and panicky to the point that his hands are trembling.
“I know what you did. Meet me at the grave in an hour.” the voice rang in his head.
He could not get rid of the bad vibes. He had killed a man after all.