The constant noise hammering into the soul.
The shock and shudder of the whizz-bangs overhead.
The overpowering stench burning in the nostrils.
The seeping mud that oozed into everything.
But they sat idle waiting for orders.
Shortly though the word would come from up the line.
The thunder of the big guns.
I Spy with My Idiosyncratic Eye 
Thanks for linking up to Trifecta this week. I really liked the pacing of this short piece–the parallel structure of the first four lines and then the hesitation of waiting idle just before the big guns. Really nicely done. Hope you’ll come back soon.
Thank you for liking my piece, it’s only short (like me, but unlike my writing style!). :)
I like the sitting idle in contrast to all the bad things described before that. It sets up a nice tension.
Thanks for reading and commenting. :)
Chaotic and dangerous place to be. I wouldn’t want to be on the front line, that’s for sure.
So true, thank you for commenting. :)
The last line echoes. Nicely done.
Thank you kindly. :)
The fog of war. Your poem gives me an overwhelming sense of someone resigned to the inevitable… and the ‘hurry up and wait’. Just beautiful.
Poem?! I don’t think it is, it doesn’t follow AB for starters! ;) Thank you for stopping by. :)
http://www.google.com.au/search?q=define+poem
It fits that definition of poem ;)
It does appear to, thank you for sharing. (I’m just in a little shock!) I wrote a POEM! ;)
(see earlier post in the week if you need an explanation for slightly hysterical, immature reaction)
I like how many of the senses you appealed to; even touch, through the shudder and the seeping mud. Well done.
Thank you very much. :)