All Quiet Poem by Angelo Pisa

We are at rest five miles behind the front,

Now we are almost happy,

But the sun goes down, night comes,

The night roars and flashes,

Spade, trench, crash, smoke, groan, stagger, jab, leap, yell, quiver, cower, blast,

Wounded, smash, dead...

Bodies collapse, hands remain suspended, stumps of arms now hang in the wire...

Heavy shells tearing down the parapet,

The hollow, furious blast is like a blow from the paw of a raging beast,

We have lost all feeling.

Helpless, waiting-we are lost,

Trenches are no longer in good condition,

Dawn approaches,

We have tired faces.

The explosion of mines mingle with the gun-fire,

Death is hunting us down.

We are at rest five miles behind the front,

Now we are almost happy.