"cronin" poems - Hello Poetry

I know we won't replace, The vacant hole you once embraced, Our hearts were full and solid gold, Now there’s sadness and bitter cold, You gave us love, you gave us time, Beside us through every fall and climb, Words can never explain the tears, We cry now for the wasted years… …years… …years… The many times we had laughed, The emptiness can’t hope to halve, And yet I can’t help but reflect upon, The days and weeks and times; long gone, But in my memory, that secret place, Is the joy and magic I can trace, Those times that only I can share, With you, myself – a connection so rare… …rare… …rare… Though now your soul is far away, We’ll have thoughts of you each passing day, Of superman at Christmas and Guinness for a saint, The scolding of Tim Henman, that passionate complaint, The stories of Las Vegas, and of the times we shared in France, Will light up all our broken hearts and the mind can have its dance, You were a special lady, we don’t want to release, But I know that you are with us and your body is at peace… …peace… …peace… (This poem was written in memory of my Nan, An Cronin. R.I.P.)

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Aug 28, 2012

Aug 28, 2012 at 5:52 AM UTC

simon-clark

Peace

I know we won't replace, The vacant hole you once embraced, Our hearts were full and solid gold, Now there’s sadness and bitter cold, You gave us love, you gave us time, Beside us through every fall and climb, Words can never explain the tears, We cry now for the wasted years… …years… …years… The many times we had laughed, The emptiness can’t hope to halve, And yet I can’t help but reflect upon, The days and weeks and times; long gone, But in my memory, that secret place, Is the joy and magic I can trace, Those times that only I can share, With you, myself – a connection so rare… …rare… …rare… Though now your soul is far away, We’ll have thoughts of you each passing day, Of superman at Christmas and Guinness for a saint, The scolding of Tim Henman, that passionate complaint, The stories of Las Vegas, and of the times we shared in France, Will light up all our broken hearts and the mind can have its dance, You were a special lady, we don’t want to release, But I know that you are with us and your body is at peace… …peace… …peace… (This poem was written in memory of my Nan, An Cronin. R.I.P.)

31

Waterloo bridge Vehicles come and go Myra Lester Wanders to and fro The past be not here The mind goes nowhere Deafening horn Warns inches to go Grating howl Crys with a blow Sky tears through the air Weeps the world or hell Waterloo bridge River flows east below Roy Cronin Stands feels for her soul Water chants to tell Much to hear or bear by Shun

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Dec 4, 2012

Dec 4, 2012 at 3:45 AM UTC

fakefool

Waterloo Bridge

Waterloo bridge Vehicles come and go Myra Lester Wanders to and fro The past be not here The mind goes nowhere Deafening horn Warns inches to go Grating howl Crys with a blow Sky tears through the air Weeps the world or hell Waterloo bridge River flows east below Roy Cronin Stands feels for her soul Water chants to tell Much to hear or bear by Shun

19

Cronin and Richrath accompany me on this trip, Driving down this stretch of 75, Driving amongst the clouds and mountains of the Blue Ridge, Giving off a soft yet intense tune. The sun has just set, Giving the sky a odd dark hue, The rumbling of the jeep is a constant, Sounds from the old engine almost giving the song certain cues. The wind ripping through the open cabin, Tearing at clothes and hair, The howling it gives off, Fails to drown out Cronin's cries, Of his personal philosophy he sings. Better the brutal truth than a shocking revelation of betrayal, Hands gripping the steering wheel tighter, Driving to destiny, A better future awaits. Driving to destiny

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Apr 1, 2018

Apr 1, 2018 at 11:14 PM UTC

TheBassist

Drive to Destiny

Cronin and Richrath accompany me on this trip, Driving down this stretch of 75, Driving amongst the clouds and mountains of the Blue Ridge, Giving off a soft yet intense tune. The sun has just set, Giving the sky a odd dark hue, The rumbling of the jeep is a constant, Sounds from the old engine almost giving the song certain cues. The wind ripping through the open cabin, Tearing at clothes and hair, The howling it gives off, Fails to drown out Cronin's cries, Of his personal philosophy he sings. Better the brutal truth than a shocking revelation of betrayal, Hands gripping the steering wheel tighter, Driving to destiny, A better future awaits. Driving to destiny

18

There's unslept in sheets That don't wrinkle on the corners The alarm clock flashes Because after that storm The one where you left And didn't come back I never reset the numbers There's a worn copy of Cronin's The Passage And a sheet of paper Quoting the fifth installment of Hopsin's ill mind There's a letter on your pillow case That I've rewritten 30 times Reminding you that I still want you Reminding me you're not home And the foot of your side of the bed Is your clothes Folded from before the storm With you car keys on top Still untouched Because I can't bring myself To let go

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Aug 9, 2016

Aug 9, 2016 at 12:34 AM UTC

hidingwithharley

Your Side of the Bed

There's unslept in sheets That don't wrinkle on the corners The alarm clock flashes Because after that storm The one where you left And didn't come back I never reset the numbers There's a worn copy of Cronin's The Passage And a sheet of paper Quoting the fifth installment of Hopsin's ill mind There's a letter on your pillow case That I've rewritten 30 times Reminding you that I still want you Reminding me you're not home And the foot of your side of the bed Is your clothes Folded from before the storm With you car keys on top Still untouched Because I can't bring myself To let go

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