He was an actor who died at the age of seventy.
William died of complications from heart surgery.
He starred in over eighty television shows over the years.
This man chose to be a character actor, that was his career.
He starred on The Andy Griffith Show in 'Stranger In Town'.
He died over thirty years ago and he's buried in the ground.
He starred in 'Sanford and Son', 'Newhart' and 'Cold Steel'.
He also starred in an episode of 'The Trials of Rosie O'Neill'.
He starred in one episode of both 'Wonder Woman' and 'Amen'.
It's sad because William is dead and we will never see him again.

All of my love for you, will only ever written in letters, not in life.
For if I ever told you the truth, you would surely begone.
You'll forever be my last fleeting word, in life and in death.

I got lost at bay and dropped my spark
I swore midday
My world turned dark.

Don't know which way my world is headed
Perhaps a doomsday was fated.

I can't see nor can I move
And I stopped having anything to prove.

Frozen at the beach I cried
I now know, my world has died.

Two   the word we use,  
As if life were a coin,  
Each side opposing:  
One, a dream; the other, silence.  

We call Death the thief of goals,  
The end that never asks,  
But why should it?  
When even Life, its brother,  
Arrives without permission,  
Yet remains sacred.

Sometimes I speak to Death itself,  
Ask it:  
Why don’t you knock?  
Why don’t you warn?  
Why don’t you ask before you take?

But then I pause,
Am I not in control of my own path?  
Or is Death the master still,  
Choosing when to come  
And who to claim?

Death
Why do  you grieve?  
Why do  you  fear fate?

Imagine the soul   yours, mine  
Entwined in the delicate dance  
Of life and its inevitable shadow.  

It must happen.  
Karma, I say.

Every decision, every step
The seeds of future consequence.  
Right or wrong, good or bad
But who defines them?

The sun and earth,  
Even they obey time
Silent servants to fate.

Weeping from her wounds
Poisoned by the flesh and bones
We’ll rest when she’s dead.

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 ****** 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

A fruit that kills,

A woman that deceives.

A man, banished—

Exiled to the mud,

from whence he came,

and shall return.

He toils and tumbles,

screeches and cries.

The trees watch,

with growing silence.

The roots cave in.

They are ignorant—

to my suffering.

A witness that

never confesses.

They bear fruit

that fall and are bludgeoned.

They cry in silence—

there is no one left

to devour their pent-up tears.

—I grow tired,

I grow weary.