You are the mud under my shoes
that with each step
urge me on
and turn my racing spikes
into Hermes' shoes.
You are the glow of my phone
when I can't sleep at night
so I look for solace
with those I care about most.
You are the music I hear
and the music I play,
both so different
but neither more beautiful.
You are the click of heels on hardwood
and the smell of jasmine
on a night we cannot forget
because I finally asked.
While all of my friends will tell me no,
I say yes because I can't watch you go.
While all of my friends won't like you at all,
You're quite the catch, and it's worth the fall.
And though I've just met you, I can't help it, you see,
I'm thinking about you, hoping you're thinking about me.
It's almost like coming home,
but not quite.
Like I'm in search of a piece of myself I'd left behind,
all along knowing it remains desperately in its place each time I leave.
Home simultaneously draws nearer and grows farther in distance,
severed, split, disjointed.
The lights blink a welcome message and the darkness guides me unknowingly closer.
Closer, closer but never quite there.
On the way back all these thoughts poured,
Leaving me more opaque than when I left.
All the fears resurfaced with their horns and pitchforks...
No, I didn't tread through this tedious hell just to fail.
And then a voice said:
"Facing your demons, and the ones you thought you left behind, never was easy. You get scared and overwhelmed, but that's why you pray. "
...and that's why suddenly, we could all move again.
God blesses your hands, takes them both
and lifts you so you can stand.
This is your homecoming,
a long time in coming,
72 years, eleven months, and one week
you’ve been running this race, so I think
we can afford a little grace when you sprint
the last mile, so strong and sweet
into your Father’s open arms.
And you know those angles leading you away
ain’t got nothing on you, not even reasons for you
to stay. And they’ll be trying hard, cause they know
they haven’t got a thing compared to your heart.
This is your homecoming,
a final graduation, a certification you’ve done
right by life. And we’ll still be here singing
sacred Somns from the earth you once called
your own, waiting to see you smile in the wind
even though your gone. And we are so happy
for you, but we’re still human, and selfish,
so we’re a little sad and regretful too.
But we won’t ever stop missing you,
cause this is your homecoming,
and the Lord says it’s time to
go along. And when you see us again
you’ll be so proud, cause we’re going to
keep on, and we’re going be strong,
and we’re going give this life every last bit of fight
we’ve got just like you did. So we’ll let you go,
for a little while, for your homecoming.
Cause someday we’ll be coming home too.
I step outside your front door
And immediately my whole body goes numb
I can feel my skin rising up as the first goose bumps form.
The journey to the car seems all too short and familiar.
Every step and inch closer makes my heart ache to collapse
There is emptiness in your eyes
As you routinely hug us goodbye
Why can you not face me or them or her?
Those three words are cancer to your tongue.
If only you knew,
If only anyone knew
that the second your out of sight
I begin to tremble and fight to choke back my fears
Silently tears stream down my face,
One after another, never ceasing to stop.
For each tear,
I wish and pray
That everything would just go away
I need a new beginning
I need a new homecoming.
His wife, George, was present with flowers.
Anne and Michael,his children, were there.
A headstone had been carved at the Quarry,
now all waited on Yeats to appear.
Soft and damp was that day in the graveyard
with the scent of turned earth in the air.
Beyond rose the bulk of Ben Bulben,
As the Lorry, with the poet, drew near.
Ten years he had slept in his coffin,
while the great nation states played at war.
Now Sean MacBride, the son of his rival,
brought him home, where he'd not been before.
At his birth, Yeats was a British subject.
By his death, a Dominion was here.
Now they laid him to rest in the free state;
the newly minted Republic of Eire.
A bhean chéile, George, a bhí i láthair le bláthanna.
Anne agus Michael, a pháistí, bhí ann.
Bhí A cloch chinn snoite ar an Cairéal,
gach fhan anois ar Yeats le feiceáil.
Bhí bog agus tais an lá sin sa reilig
leis an boladh de domhain iompú san aer.
Beyond ardaigh an chuid is mó de Ben Bulben,
Mar an Leoraí, leis an bhfile, tharraing aice.
Deich mbliana bhí chodail sé ina cónra,
agus an stáit náisiúin mór a bhí ag an chogaidh.
Anois Seán MacBride, mac a rival,
thabhairt dó sa bhaile, i gcás nach mhaith a bhí sé riamh.
Ag a rugadh é, go raibh Yeats ábhar na Breataine.
De réir a bhás, bhí Dominion anseo.
Anois atá leagtha siad dó a gcuid eile sa stát saor in aisce;
an bualadh nua-Phoblacht na Eire.