running through barbed wire

insomnia
in the dead of night
his bed is as hard as stone
the light globe is burning bright

her photograph
burns in waking dreams
his bedroom is like a fiery kiln
brick walls suffocate his screams

assassination
her mouth a sniper’s grin
his heart is draped in darkness
and a burning flag blows within

and his heart
is heartless terrain
where passion is a weapon
within the hands of the insane

war to the knife
the trenches in flood
flowers in the battlefield
poppies the colour of blood...



after sunrise
howling out her name
he is trapped like a wild dog
as ashes bury the dying flames