And so the world turns landscapes stay the same
Of glens,straths and hills where water runneth as burns,
Low mists gather leaving drops of moisture like tears,
weeping for the passing of a soul hardened by abuse,
But still loving and gentle.
What will those left do now will they carry the banner,
that is left behind.
Songs float across still waters of loughs reflecting thoughts
and sorrows written by the hand of fate.
Truths are told whether some like them or not,
they must betold as a warning shout to others.
She rose above this deceitful,corrupt world,
giving smiles of happiness to an appreciative few,
Tears run down faces in sadness and loss,
we as a people never valued your worth.
Now that you have passed the invisible door,
gone to higher places beyond our ken.
Let us mourn and greive your heartfelt loss
and try to do as you once did.
Andrew Provan McIntyre. 03/09/2023. (c).
I can go days without talking to you
months without seeing you
but not a second goes by that
i don't think about you.
somewhere between all our
loughs,long talks,stupid little fights
and all our lame jokes...
I FEEL IN LOVE
And thanks to you i have found
someone to love and comfort me.
Through the good and bad...
THANK YOU
Even though it hurts letting you go i just have too like they say
IF YOU LOVE SOMETHING LET IT GO,
IF IT COMES BACK TO YOU IT'S YOURS
IF IT DOESN'T IT NEVER WAS,
AND IT'S NOT MEANT TO BE
I wish i could bake
a cake made of
joy, happiness and loughs
so everybody could
eat and be happy
I wish I could invent
a radio full of sounds
of peace so we listen,
And stop war, rage and anger
Sometimes I wish
we could focus on
our talents and abilities,
rather than our differences
And I wish we could all
encourage
and not discriminate
so that we all reach
our full potential
I wish
we could all live life
to the fullest
Hank loughs with guilt
thought while the smoke
of cigarrattes tingle
in his mouth.
He has neumonia, "for God sakes"!
But he enjoys smoking until
the last drag.
Finally there is a silence, like a chapel
on Sunday mass; little rings bells
at the distance sounds.
Our friendship is tight
he gave me his hand to pull him up.
The silence remains in the chapel
of his home, another puff, onemore puff,
the last puff.
The bells, still ringing
he has chest pain, but latter a releif
by a glass of ice coffe.
We joke between puffs, we know
life is short; let celebrate our dreams.
Time passed by and the silence in the
chapel remains untouched,
one more whisper, one more drag
he falls sleep with a childish face,
all his worries are gone.
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