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Jack Aylward Sep 2015
I removed myself from the darkness
Of the dead
But soon became a demon
On the run from the Gods.

©Jack Aylward
Off lone island bay,
Outlander waves are praying,
Curly in their white caps.

Cars and lorries are creeping
Into a village still sleeping,
Coming in from nowhere.

Stones have things to voice,
There are stars of rock fish
Deep in bays with the moon.

Beyond night dream are lochs,
Darks and colds of longings,
Mountains old as confusion.

Birds chime their mouth musics,
Churlishly sent over moorlands,
All questions ring unanswered.

On broke beaches are notions
Of days strung to faraways
And sands bleached ancestral.

Off lone island bay,
Simple comings, waves, goings,
After sly moon, sun has its say.
listen -
hear no sound, feel
only wind on its way, ghostly
nothings, but hush to sharp wings
of ocean birds so fraying as they cut
the sky, shuttle to fairways, far aways,
in plaintive cries, i hear what they say,
sailing into the jeweled skylights, but i
am only weight of air, still on ground,
i mumble out, sidle the bone tides
that roll to land, grains of clarity,
i am mist and tear, a world
of hollow, i am that sound -
of ocean in a shell.
Jack Aylward Sep 2015
For love we have died.
Now I know fools and
Cowards do have hearts;
I was one of them.
Brave ******* we were,
Brave ****** ******* all of us.
We fought with fist and gun,
Stood up to fight the ruddy ***
But we were always
On the ****** run.
Young and without a warning
We ventured too far under the electrifying sun.

©Jack Aylward,
4th April 2004
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