Emerald Scars – Seeds of Hope
by @TomVassos
The blight swept Irish fields, crops crumbled to dust,
They starved on barren land, betrayed by false trust.
The ships sailed for England, with bellies of grain,
While coffins piled high, in the cold bitter rain.
Hollowed by dire famine, Irish voices grew weak,
Their language was silenced, each time they dared speak.
Irish songs were forbidden, their faith forced to hide,
While English law reigned, with its power and pride.
The green Irish valleys, flowed crimson with dead,
In Derry and Belfast, shattered streets bled red.
“The Troubles” unleashed bombs, the air burned with fire,
As brother fought brother, in streets choked with ire.
Murals of martyrs stared grim, from brazen walls,
Names whispered softly, in dim candlelit halls.
Cruel soldiers in armour, patrolled every street,
And children knew fear, before finding their feet.
Yet under the weight, of the rifle and rule,
They clung to their stories, in bard’s ancient school.
The harp still was strummed, beneath the cloak of night,
Keeping the flame of their souls, forever bright.
British sons too felt lost, on streets far from home,
Their names carved in stone, where the mourners still roam.
They carried the weight, of a war not their choice,
And spoke of their loss, in a trembling voice.
One day vulgar guns, fell to silence at last,
Though deep scars in their hearts, still clung to the past.
Hands crossed worn lines, where the blood once did flow,
And seeds of a fragile, wary bond did grow.
They’ll never forget, those they buried in clay,
Nor the pain that forged, who they are to this day.
They now share their markets, their music, their trade,
New bonds have been woven, though old wounds won’t fade.
Two peoples once torn, bruised by conflict and dread,
Now walk side by side, down the road still ahead.
The border once guarded, with watchtowers and wire,
Now welcomes the traveller, without armed attire.
And if two proud isles, can crawl out of their gloom,
Perhaps other nations, can defy their own doom.
Walk away from their ruins, with hands intertwined,
And heal ancient wounds, in the hearts of mankind.
– Tom Vassos, Canadian Author, Astronomer