Red letter day
Fortune favours the brave
we are told but often
the brave don't
live to grow old.
So it was at Thiepval
in the green fields of France
when the Ulster Division
was invited to dance.
In this one day of war
100 years ago
five thousand five hundred
Ulster men were led
at walking pace to join
the legions of the dead.
I remember well singing
the sad song's refrain
about how the flower
of Ulster youth
all died in vain.
In four months of summer
in 1916 a million men bled
turning Flanders' fields
a muddy colour of red.
Of course there were English,
Welsh, Scots and Germans
adding their stain and
all of their families felt
the same pain.
To this day in Ulster's
hamlets and neighbourhoods
you will still hear them shout
the names of Thiepval Wood
and Schwaben Redoubt.
Lions led by donkeys
is the legend we hear
and it's true the generals
were all at the rear.
It was a long way from home
where the Ulster Division
died at the Somme,
but the memory lives on
as that God-forsaken place
where the letters came from.
A Visit from a Friend
Hello old friend.
I knew our meeting was long overdue.
As you recall, the last time we met
I ran away in anger and fear.
You could have followed me, but you let me escape.
For those few extra years I am forever grateful.
I made my peace and said my goodbyes.
This time, I will not run. I will not hide.
I have spent all my seconds,
Taken all my breathes.
I lived the life I was given.
And now I can leave this world
with a smile on my face.
So I say once again,
Hello old friend.
The Seeker
What is a page?
A tyrant,
Who demands his dues be paid in full,
Yet deems appeals unworthy.
What is an idea?
A seedling,
Which grows unbidden in the earth's heart
And emerges only on its own time.
What is inspiration?
A shadow,
Which flees the hand that reaches for it
But falls across the busy mind.
What is writing?
An answer,
To questions that we never thought to hear
And hide until they're asked.
Loneliness Salivating (part 4)
the boy hides in the basement,
wondering how many cracks
the walls can hold before the sky falls
and his lungs fill with splinters,
he smokes a stolen cigarette,
it tastes like the bitter betrayal of peace,
he sits, in the corner on the floor,
blows smoke through cobwebs
and pretends that divinity is based
on perspective, maybe the footsteps
coming down the stairs are judgement
chasing down the smell of his sin,
maybe his actions are feeding Devils
and the strays are coming in
for a free meal. he chuckles because he knows.
there is only one outcome.
he takes a deep breath and waits,
hoping the spider will bite him
and misfortune will give birth
to mercy.
Trust
I find it in you when the world
Rips through your paper skin
Peeled back and exposed
It's beautiful
how much you hurt and
bleed faith all over my
Blackened heart
I'm remorseful that your suffering serves such a purpose
To teach and release your
Shining crest upon me
When I possess no speck of
The light that shines so brightly
In your veins
Trust I did seek and I find in you
that in your breaking
I am saved
My heart seeks you
My heart seeks you
In the darkest nights
In the eye of the storm
I am lost
I am drowning
In the guilt
Burden on my shoulders
My yoke chokes
My every breath
Gasping for air
Blind, deaf, unclean
I reach for your hand
I reach for your heart
My lord
I seek your face
Shelter me
From the evil
Remove the veil
That covers my sight
In my distress
I call out
Echoes in my heart
Will my voice
Reach your ears
Will my hand reach you
Save me today
That I may live
Tomorrow