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 Nov 2018 Damian Murphy
This is a test
this is only a test

you may opt to do the right thing
you may opt to think of all humanity and not just the people you know

in the event of an actual emergency
what will you do?
if all the weapons are in the hands of fools?

what will you do?
if the votes of many aren't counted?

this piercing tone serves as a reminder
you may be called upon
to do heroic deeds
Only a test...
 Nov 2018 Damian Murphy
In me there are volumes
upon infinite volumes of poetry
written in calligraphy on
handmade linen parchment in
a dark corner of my brain

crumpled ***** of paper
clog my arteries
words and symbols
seeping out my pores

a deluge of rhyme
a ***** of verse
a million billion zillion
ridiculous lines of litany

my time belongs not to me
but to a strange epiphany
not good, not bad, it is what is
each poem is my purpose
 Nov 2018 Damian Murphy
On Fire
 Nov 2018 Damian Murphy
None could have foreseen

a time so dire.

For he is the man

who set himself on fire.
 Nov 2018 Damian Murphy
There is no comfort on the storm tossed sea,
Where haply death claims lives without a trace.
There in the froth, the gale, the waves that be,
Convulsed from clime to clime, and now embrace
What I just cannot fathom nor conceal,
The dark and boundless depths that now reveal—
The lives, long gone, a homeless corpse up churn'd
The shores that change but ne'er cease to recall
A rage that sank both sailour and the learn'd,
No knells, no coffins, graves, or ev'n headstones at all!

O, rolling ocean, ship's wreckage contained
Inside thy stomach deep and rotting be,
The slave, the free, the captain thou retained;—
Mere bones, that once were faces, they to me
Are nameless and unknown, they be not mine,
All wrapt in tangle, fathom deep in brine.
Somewhere someone adored and loved their form;
Yet now fore'er engulf'd in bub'ling foam,—
Still in the barnacles that are their dorm,
Old ship was matchless to the storm—hear thy last groan.

Yet standing on thy shores, heave to and fro,
No evidence of death that catch my eyes;
Thy waters glass, they sometime toss and go
Without impending gloom, no darken'd skies.
My love, ocean, rekindled all for thee,
Within my heart, within my soul, and see;—
Time changes not thy waves wherein I play'd
As childhood waned, adulthood now I find—
Both cheerful and the cheerless waters spray'd,
Thou givest hours of cheerfulness and death unkind.
( Dedicated to Tryst. )
© Timothy 20 January 2015
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