The Call

Shells fall around us,

Thundering artillery

Brightens the endless night,

If only for a moment.

Seemingly at random,

The Earth erupts,

Showering down around us like hail.

We are numb,

Having been here so long.

So in silence we sit,

Awaiting the call to death.

As we wait in the atrium of Hell,

We snack on mold-ridden bread.

A rat makes a run for it,

Interrupting our vigil.

The crack of a pistol…

And all is silent again.

Then, at last, the whistle blows.

The call.

We push ourselves up,

Dust off, and prepare

To go over the top.