8 young boys
went of to war,
Their heads held high
As they left Belfast's shore
4 men returned,
Their heads to the floor
4 friends they lost
And so much more.
2 men stand slowly,
As a tear runs down each face,
They think of all he lost
And this their resting place.
1 French field looks empty,
But all is not as it seems,
As just beneath the surface
Lies boyhood shattered dreams.
©spor
As the secondhand
Falls
From 12 to 6
So to do I
My mind fogs
My heart sinks
While my body
Slowly
Crawls away to the nearest dark corner
In the emptiness
I hide
Facing nothing but my own fears
The tortures of my mind
After I am done
Exhausted fatigued
My eyes twitch
And my limbs jerk
With rapid convulsions
I show Myself
My True self
Stripped bare of all pretence
The energy required to be Who you want
GONE
I am what I appear to be Myself
Broken
Then
Then I sleep
As the clock hands fight gravity
Scaling the rock face from 6 to 12
I recharge
Clawing at every ounce of energy I can
With every breathe
Until tomorrow...
Through thoughts and fears,
Blood sweat and tears,
I struggle on.
No fight or flight response required,
No heads or tails,
No success without fails,
But I struggle on.
I have no choice,
No need to decide,
This is my life,
From which I hide,
Still,
still I struggle on!
©Spor
This eclipse
It never ends
The guiding beacon which one depends
Is lost
In the dark
The heart beats silent
And
Alone.
(C) Spor