If soil could complain-
if air could sign,
if Earth could weep,
and if humanity could truly speak
of what it has done to itself.
They would recount quite wounds,
buried in silence,
echoes stifled by times,
memories sealed away,
folded within like secrets-
the world refused to hear.
But silence is not peace,
it is a storm held in the lungs,
a scream never given voice.
And if one day -
someone dared to listen, truly listen-
To the grief that was never spoken,
they should be overcome by guilt,
They would fall beneath it's weight.The Foyle Young Poets of the Year Award
From the Faughan river valley
To Binevenaghs mighty brow
I love these roads to travel
Wish I could tread them now
To in an instant be propelled
Landing on that grassy slope
That overlooks Magilligan strand
Would be my greatest hope
To take the road to Donnybrewer
And walk down by the Foyle
To see the fields of Kerrs Pinks
Where my father used to toil
To listen to the Corncrake call
As it hides in the long hay
How many happy times were spent
Trying to glimpse her on my way
When you’ve walked up Kilnappy brae
You’ll hear your legs complain
Saying don’t you ever try to
Bring us up this way again
The walking up can wear us out
But when we turn around
The view that lays before us
Will never fail to us astound
The beauty of the patchwork quilt
Of fields enclosed with stone
The distant hills of Donegal
That was my parents’ home
I miss not just the countryside
My family I miss dear
Many times I’ve spent just wishing
I was there or they were here
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