Before The Storming Of The Casinga Trenches Poem by Gert Strydom

The past was going in seconds
while I was being sheltered
behind a small wall, with bullets,
mortars and rockets
whining and exploding, dark was everything,
dark was all

with death spreading its tentacles,
gripping mostly the enemy
bringing them to a fall
but for those barely out of range,
covered by trenches
the change from living to dead
were only minutes away

but the present was catching up with them,
with sniper bullets, mortars homing in
and hand grenades arcing dead on target
and the enemy trench lying straight ahead
to win the battle, the only way to tread
and the future of living or dying
was drawing down on the intersection
of the order: to take the trench.

[Reference: Full Moon At Tierz: Before The Storming Of Huesca by John Cornford.]