The Mourning Mud

To stand among the outstretched
growing waiting dead
as metal birdsong forward beckons;

To glance last time alog the line
as a thousand hearts
force a tide of crimson tension
taught through every vein;

Over, under cover,
swathes of gunfire,
no time between misses
to look back for pals
the mourning mud will
forever claim.

© Copyright D. Archer October 2011

The Shore

We buried the dead
under the truce of a white flag
ten thousand miles from the shore,
wounds filled with foreign soil,
youth stolen from them all.

In trenches of truth
we piled pals
hundreds deep to the wall;
humanity buried
beneath lime and lies
on a scale like never before.

© Copyright D. Archer October 2011