Colin F. Jones

IN THE HAZE OF CORDITE

What is this love; desire or wanton lust,
That leads me anxiously to your bed,
To bind with sweetness everlasting trust,
While great emotion surges through my head.
Tis chemical, which smites the heart with fire,
And raises courage though tis often fear,
Which makes one brave and raises such desire,
Sometimes with lust; sometimes with sadder tear.
Frost in the summer; freezing in the sun,
Emotions complex with the ebbing tide,
Lost in the cordite of the belching gun,
All that he was before he served and died.
Does love still live then, in the surviving one?
Light cannot fade now the sun is gone.