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Patrick Brennan Poem
His fragile fevered brow is soaked with life’s sweat
Nearing the end, his death has not arrived just yet
Shivering, his body is on fire, he makes a gentle sigh
His frame broken down by the years now passed by
The end of the final chapter, his book has grown old
Soon in a faith filled church, his past tales will be told
He’s a person, loved, surrounded by his living history
His family hold one another, parts of his closing story
Go quietly now love, for the time has come to move on
Hush now, your wearied tiredness, is oh so nearly gone
Soon the warmth of living will become so stiff and cold
Leaving this earth’s dusty soil, so as to join an eternal fold
He enters deaths doorway that will close quickly behind
A peace beyond imagination, a kind welcome he will find
Tears flow, fond goodbyes are spoken a kiss of farewell
Do not mourn too long have faith, know he is now well.
Patrick Brennan © 2010
Copyright © Patrick Brennan | Year Posted 2010
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Patrick Brennan Poem
Why this melancholy that pierces my defences, that holds me
That invades this gentle heart, leaving its mark, a lasting legacy?
Will I ever fully understand this broken, flawed nature holding me
Persuading me, that I need it’s comforting, such a tragic fallacy.
Patrick Brennan © 2010
Copyright © Patrick Brennan | Year Posted 2010
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Patrick Brennan Poem
A sense of foreboding captures my thinking
The room is darkening and my spirit is sinking
I watch the evening begin to vanquish the day
Light bows, allowing the shadow to have its way
The dying day gives into the smothering of night
Daytime fades fast before this onslaught to its light
Night begins its reign, but then a tiny light appears
A speck of flickering hope that takes away my fears
The blanket of the sky is punctured by a brightness
I am reassured, consoled, cared for in my weakness
Patrick Brennan ©
Copyright © Patrick Brennan | Year Posted 2010
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Patrick Brennan Poem
Weaving its magical way into my very being
Comes a sweetness found only in its listening
Deep within my feeble mortal frame’s keeping
I do love listening to a mournful violin weeping
A strange melancholy is woven by bow and string
Its soft melody enables my fragile heart to sing
Seduced by sadness, I hear those sweet notes play
Yet the hearing of the tune brightens my every day
A beautiful haunting sound of tragedy and tears
Caressing my emotions, while soothing all my fears
Gentle tears fall on my face as I recall any past regret
I smile to myself as I have learnt not to worry or fret
What is done is now gone, it is consigned to history
What is to come is the making of a precious memory
Patrick Brennan © 2010
Copyright © Patrick Brennan | Year Posted 2010
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Patrick Brennan Poem
I bid you farewell
No more my story to you can I tell
I shall not see you again
We shared so much and then
You are gone
and I am done
for, that is how it shall be
gone the closeness, no more the intimacy
Lost to me now the warmth of your touch,
One last word I crave so much
No more the delight of you in my sight
No longer can I remember your voice, it does not feel right
Your voice, the sound that brought such joy
I strain to hear so hard I try
But you are gone
And I am done
For, that is how it shall be
You will become just a memory
Each moment of my day your company I sought
Your fullness once occupied my every thought
I weep now and cannot console,
A darkness smothers my once vibrant soul
No comfort can I take, but wait
not so quick to dismiss our fate
For I shall follow where you have gone
When I am done
For that is how it will be
A life spent in eternity
Patrick Brennan 2009 ©
Copyright © Patrick Brennan | Year Posted 2010
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Patrick Brennan Poem
Brown dead leaves, softly falling to the ground
Gently floating downwards, leaving no sound
Stinging tears, softly falling to the soggy earth
Constantly flowing, since the time of our birth
Seasons come, they quickly go, as years pass by
Humanity never changes though, people still cry
Horrible deeds are done and often repeated again
What is it with the many flaws of mere mortal men?
Dreadful days of savage history, mark man’s time
Countless killings, prejudice, hatred, all man’s crime
Upon penitent knees, filled with remorseful sorrow
May men learn kindness as they enter into tomorrow
Patrick Brennan © 2010
Copyright © Patrick Brennan | Year Posted 2010
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Patrick Brennan Poem
I am lost in a weakness, expressed in helplessness, watching on
I can do nothing to stop times’ flight, when soon you will be gone
I see you suffer, get weaker each day, yet our love is ever stronger
Devotion to you does not diminish, as your frail frame grows weaker
It opens a gaping wound within me, I know there is nothing I can do
A lifetime poured out, each for the other, now eternity awaits you
Shallow you breathe, pain in each gasp you make, I soothe your brow
I tell you time and again how much I love you, a thousand times how
You hear my words, though silent you remain, a burden nearly past
I hold onto your hand whispering my prayers, your life is fading fast
Soon you will breathe no more, my wild tears on your pillow will fall
In gentle breezes, in future days, I will your sweet, soft voice recall
So many years spent together, many memories shared will never die
As you leave me my love, forgive my frailty, while I sit here and cry
Patrick Brennan ©
Copyright © Patrick Brennan | Year Posted 2010
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Patrick Brennan Poem
Imposing cross, producing profound silence
The Saviours last gasps, all making no sense
What is good about love crucified, O pitiful day
Desolate wretched Friday, taking life’s breath away
Hanging lifeless, exposed to creations shocked gaze
Despondent disciples enter into grief’s murky haze
Disbelieving, lost in sorrow, for blessed hope is dead
Faith is nailed to splintered wood, courage has fled
But wait, for heavens voice speaks, reveals the plan
Shrouds unfurl, unable to hold the risen Son of Man
He bursts forth from the ravages of deaths cruel hold
Conquering evil, God’s Word now proclaimed so bold
Patrick Brennan ©
Copyright © Patrick Brennan | Year Posted 2010
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Patrick Brennan Poem
The Lord of my garden has just come in from outside to the house
He muffles a noise, a growling of sorts, as he is carrying in a mouse
He lays it on the floor, it is very stiff, no longer moving or breathing
I am sure he slays for enjoyment, because he still needs his feeding
After food, cat is sleeping, slightly twitching, I think he is dreaming
Imagining his next victim, captured by sharp claws, dying, screaming
Outside in the undergrowth, sighs of relief from beleaguered mice
Gossiping together in the daylight, they agree that my cat is not nice
The birds whistle a song from the branches on high, all safe for now
Soon they will all scatter to dark corners on hearing his mighty meow
Patrick Brennan ©
Copyright © Patrick Brennan | Year Posted 2010
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