The Black Ladder

On my whistle
up the black ladder boys
as you pass the camera
for those back home; smile;

smile, happy tommy pals
with your trench-foot,
mud and deaf
blind out of sight;

let newsreels not real news
disguise your monstrous plight.

© Copyright D. Archer October 2011

My love burns like ice

You were the air
I breathed in,
the laughter that
came out,
the ten thousand kisses inbetween;
So how did I get
to the bottom of this bottle?
When did this nightmare
replace the dream?

My love burns
like ice held too long
against summer skin;
worse than any cocaine low
what once pleasure
now yields countless
torment within.

© Copyright D. Archer October 2011