Falling under the wire, crawl, faster to get the end.
Bend carefully for the wire will make one bleed, mixed with the rain, falling like a river.
Blinded with salty tears, but crawling onward, sinking farther into the mud.
Weaken wooden bars, the wire yowls in rusted crack, whipping the bare flesh.
Crawl . . . crawl, baked in mud, ripped skin and broken bones, c-crawl.
War of this is one moment to break free.
But to win, another matter, chances belittling ever second wasted.
Rusted sliver whips again, as the winds pick up, while the rains storm on.
Under the wire, bare flesh, shredded in mere weakness.
Crawl quickly, storm on, flashes of lightening awakening in shadows, casting low brow.
Crawl, reach the end, and live pasted the war is won, the moment to stand once more.
Freedom, even in the darkness thunder, wires cling deeply, but alive.
Alive and well, bloodily but once arise.
In doubt to run, or walk, but living to crawl wins all.