A Song


My old blood pressure is peaking
feel like a boot stuck in a bog
perhaps a bit of Bushmills
will clear away this fog
the fears, me, for my future
this road I travel along
I need to get my guitar
and play myself a song

My passions are a'flaming
and I struggle to contain them back
this shite is driving me insane now
but control of my emotions I do lack
the bastards they have got me down
feel like I'm giving them the win
for letting their getting the better of me
for worming their way under my skin

Blinded by self-destruction
hell-bent on my course
foolishly fighting for an ideal
just leaves me pissed off and hoarse
not matter how hard you try to make them pay
you still shoulder the greatest cost
for you can't get to those bleeding gobshites
who really couldn't give a toss

My old blood pressure is peaking
feel like a boot stuck in a bog
it weighs on me and is sucking me down
my vision blurred by tears to a fog
the fears, me, for the future
this road we all travel along
I need to get my guitar
and play myself a song

A Mourning

tears well
like salty swell
distort discerning
before dreams drown
flood of sorrow
leaving tumultuous trail
canal down cheek,
etching darkened tone
wiped away by back hand
sweep
wave reseeds
memory, softens
pebbles becoming sand,
all that we keep.