Ww3 Poem by Effie Yalena Steyn

Dark and dim, a battle overhead.
Fear is in the air, sweeping around,
screaming in ears that mute out all of the sounds of the horrors unseen.
They know
darkness lies ahead, the Sergeant commands
their total focus, pinpoint accuracy today.
“This is not a training run, boys.”
Now let us stop and pray.

But who is God in all this mess?
Is He the knife or nuclear bomb?
Is He the defeated?
He can’t be.
Look in their eyes.
There is no love there

Steel, cold, a pointy reckoning
Blood splashed, and washed, used again.