i am empty

empty

not blank

not poem-less sheet of notebook paper empty

not missing

not one missing sock from an eight year old's favourite striped pair empty

i am empty

like the space in the glass box where an exhibition in the museum of broken hearts used to be


so

empty

A romantic grace that ebb and flows
A wilting palour, or gleaming candour.
Dressed in the most splendid melancholy
Dost thou, Yesteryears, again bloom and wreathe
Piercing the fibres of succoring apathy
Unyielding, haunting asymmetry
Ghost of my Roisin Dubh vent thy effrontry

On this day 70 years ago they stormed across the sand
Boys of many nations to remove the tyrants hand
Heros all those boys so young who shed their blood for us
In that ****** fight for freedom

Across the sand they struggled neath a hail of shot and shell
Never glancing backwards as around them comrades fell
Fear was in their eyes, terror in their hearts
Many never made it and twas on foreign sand they died

Yes they died to give us the freedom that we have got this day
They died to free the world, for us they made the play
Boys from ever walk of life crossed the beaches there
Office clerks and farmers and the ones who cut our hair

Yes they were heroes all who gave their lives for us
But lets not forget the few who made it possible
The girls who made the shells, the men who built the tanks
They were the unsung heroes
They have also have earned our thanks

Without their dedication to the task they had in hand
Many more would have lost their lives on that shell torn blood stained sand
They to can hold their heads up high, they knew they did their bit
In bringing freedom to the masses when they broke the tyrants grip

Darkness Emits from one.
         His pyramid Blocks the sun.
            
            Built on souls of light,
Now drowned in his artificial night.

         A vision quest to save you,
   For your dreams are not yet true.

     Clowns cry before a broken mirror,
     For who They were fades each year.

        Bodies line the streets at dusk,
           Choked out by money lust.

     The banks hold the seat of power,
      As I hold to them my tarot card:

                      The Tower.