Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Brian Mar 2019
Will you remember me my darling and dwell on our short time, leave away the final hours and what they called my crimes.
Think of moments walking and breathing in the dew, the silence of a captured man, a servant bound to you.

Sadness always followed me for long I knew my fate was standing with my countrymen defending Ireland’s gate.
The howl of our rich soil besmirched of liberty, echos in our consciousness it is our hearts decree,
We will not kneel, we will not yield to tyrants in our lands,
The bullet is expected by the men that choose to stand.

And knowing that my narrow path was filled with blood and pain, knowing that my body was a pawn within the game.
My consciousness was woken from a slumber deep within, your presence in my life that while absolved my way of sin.

But only for a speck of time our courting did caress, the moments counted on one hand, they were my sad life’s best.
Listening to your ramblings was life’s fruit but to me, a cup of crystal water to a sailor lost at sea.

Will you remember me darling, think kindly of the days we walked the fields and footpaths and all the alleyways.
I can’t recall your stories, I don’t know what I said, all that I know is your sweet voice was needle and the thread,
That pierced my skin and found the parts remaining of my soul and stitched them to your memory to last beyond the fold.

In the morning they will take me and stand me me in the light, they’ll stand me on a shaky bench, no longer will I fight.
I won’t ask for forgiveness, I won’t repent my sins, I won’t display the sorrow that I feel deep within.
All I will request, from my maker and my guide, all I will demand from him, when we meet eye to eye, is that you will remember me not on the shaky bench but walking in your shadow my conscious in you drenched.

Know this for all time, that in the morning when he calls, when the ferryman demands his debt and when I take the fall.
I walk alone to purgatory a prince of stranded souls for once I met an angel on the banks of the river Suir.
Ryan O'Leary Dec 2019
Just saw an abortion,

floating, boy!

All ****** wrapped,

in pink, but why?

Such a stench,

each passing *****

can live the lie.

Maggots thriving.

Called surviving.

Makes one want

to cry.


ps.

Carrig on Suir is a town
in Waterford Ireland, it
is on The River Suir.

— The End —