On the Western Front

This is war, A cryptic whirlpool of souls and hurt In which we have no friend but earth. Earth! Earth! Earth! Your breath is comforting, Your whispers restore the breath To such a little life I wish to cling. My friend. My brother. My mother. Your limbs hold me closer  And shelter me from that maelstrom  to a place that is familiar, If only for ten seconds at a time. Ten seconds to run. Ten seconds to cry. Ten seconds to live. Ten seconds to hide.