Dusted off from 1968, probably my first serious poem with influences being mainly the news from Vietnam. I later used it as a song lyric with some variations, though eventually the music developed further into a fingerpicking instrumental that had a life of its' own, so the two have separated...

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In those final quickening hours

we sat, and weighed the snare-drum rhythm

of our failing hearts, sucking warmth from

close-pinched cigarettes and old memories.

Our sergeant paced, checked his watch for lies,

and ignored the muffled sobs disguised as coughs

-  his whistle hanging heavy as a prayer.

Seconds fell like dominoes, and in the dark,

kisses fell on photographs an...

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