Today's poem is a "Golden Oldie" and was originally published here in November 2012
What is beauty, but the child of dreams and longings held deep within us.
What is love, but the sister of pain and sorrow, wrung from our hearts into new birth.
What is joy, but the lighter shade of loss and feelings so dark and cold.
What is life, but the passing of moments in which we learn to love and remember.
Martyn Legg
Showing posts with label Martyn Legg. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Martyn Legg. Show all posts
October - Martyn Legg
Today's poem is a "Golden Oldie" and was originally published here in October 2012
October, and the trees are stripped bare of all they wear, but do I care, do I care?
October, and the doors all close but no one knows for no one sees, but do I care?
The leaves are laughing as they fall to the ground, so slowly they drift, without a sound
So slowly I fall, or so it seems, I have all the reasons but none of the means, no infant cries, no tear filled eyes, but do I care?
I see the solution but can’t find a cure, the dreams are all faded, have lost their allure, time is the answer and life is a day, maturity comes in a cruel kind of way, but do I care, do I care?
I’ve asked all the questions and heard the replies so hollow with pity and acceptable lies, the autumn has bitten, the colours have gone, It seems in the end that I held the wrong one.
This thing that I’ve cherished completely in vain, a thing of such beauty has caused me such pain, but do I care, do I care?
October, and the trees are stripped bare, so beautiful were they, clothed in their innocence. But do I care?
Martyn Legg
October, and the trees are stripped bare of all they wear, but do I care, do I care?
October, and the doors all close but no one knows for no one sees, but do I care?
The leaves are laughing as they fall to the ground, so slowly they drift, without a sound
So slowly I fall, or so it seems, I have all the reasons but none of the means, no infant cries, no tear filled eyes, but do I care?
I see the solution but can’t find a cure, the dreams are all faded, have lost their allure, time is the answer and life is a day, maturity comes in a cruel kind of way, but do I care, do I care?
I’ve asked all the questions and heard the replies so hollow with pity and acceptable lies, the autumn has bitten, the colours have gone, It seems in the end that I held the wrong one.
This thing that I’ve cherished completely in vain, a thing of such beauty has caused me such pain, but do I care, do I care?
October, and the trees are stripped bare, so beautiful were they, clothed in their innocence. But do I care?
Martyn Legg
Words - Martyn Legg
Today's poem is a "Golden Oldie" and was originally published here in August 2012
I place these thoughts upon the page
Expressing anger, full of rage
Broken promises and dreams
Endless nights and silent screams
Take these words and set them free
Let them be as they should be
I close the book the words are gone
Still the rage goes on and on
I place my heart within your hand
You know exactly where I stand
Fill these eyes with something new
Yet another glimpse of you
Words just come and then they go
There is no reason to their flow
Transcending time they state the pain
They speak of loss, they speak of gain
Could I control the way words fall
If I could live to use them all
Still there would be things left to say
Words enough to fill the day
Take these words and set them free…
Martyn Legg
I place these thoughts upon the page
Expressing anger, full of rage
Broken promises and dreams
Endless nights and silent screams
Take these words and set them free
Let them be as they should be
I close the book the words are gone
Still the rage goes on and on
I place my heart within your hand
You know exactly where I stand
Fill these eyes with something new
Yet another glimpse of you
Words just come and then they go
There is no reason to their flow
Transcending time they state the pain
They speak of loss, they speak of gain
Could I control the way words fall
If I could live to use them all
Still there would be things left to say
Words enough to fill the day
Take these words and set them free…
Martyn Legg
Sciatica - Martyn Legg
Rats are gnawing, biting, clawing
Pain is searing, endless, aching
Rats are gnawing, biting, clawing
Knotted tension, sleep is gone
Rats are gnawing, biting, clawing
Knives are twisting, cutting, probing
Rats are gnawing, biting, clawing
Tendons rigid, stretching, screaming
Rats are gnawing, biting, clawing
Spine is wracked by endless flame
Rats are gnawing, biting, clawing
Stupid, pointless futile game
Rats are gnawing, biting, clawing…
Martyn Legg
Pain is searing, endless, aching
Rats are gnawing, biting, clawing
Knotted tension, sleep is gone
Rats are gnawing, biting, clawing
Knives are twisting, cutting, probing
Rats are gnawing, biting, clawing
Tendons rigid, stretching, screaming
Rats are gnawing, biting, clawing
Spine is wracked by endless flame
Rats are gnawing, biting, clawing
Stupid, pointless futile game
Rats are gnawing, biting, clawing…
Martyn Legg
What Is? - Martyn Legg
What is beauty, but the child of dreams and longings held deep within us.
What is love, but the sister of pain and sorrow, wrung from our hearts into new birth.
What is joy, but the lighter shade of loss and feelings so dark and cold.
What is life, but the passing of moments in which we learn to love and remember.
Martyn Legg
What is love, but the sister of pain and sorrow, wrung from our hearts into new birth.
What is joy, but the lighter shade of loss and feelings so dark and cold.
What is life, but the passing of moments in which we learn to love and remember.
Martyn Legg
October - Martyn Legg
October, and the trees are stripped bare of all they wear, but do I care, do I care?
October, and the doors all close but no one knows for no one sees, but do I care?
The leaves are laughing as they fall to the ground, so slowly they drift, without a sound
So slowly I fall, or so it seems, I have all the reasons but none of the means, no infant cries, no tear filled eyes, but do I care?
I see the solution but can’t find a cure, the dreams are all faded, have lost their allure, time is the answer and life is a day, maturity comes in a cruel kind of way, but do I care, do I care?
I’ve asked all the questions and heard the replies so hollow with pity and acceptable lies, the autumn has bitten, the colours have gone, It seems in the end that I held the wrong one.
This thing that I’ve cherished completely in vain, a thing of such beauty has caused me such pain, but do I care, do I care?
October, and the trees are stripped bare, so beautiful were they, clothed in their innocence. But do I care?
Martyn Legg
October, and the doors all close but no one knows for no one sees, but do I care?
The leaves are laughing as they fall to the ground, so slowly they drift, without a sound
So slowly I fall, or so it seems, I have all the reasons but none of the means, no infant cries, no tear filled eyes, but do I care?
I see the solution but can’t find a cure, the dreams are all faded, have lost their allure, time is the answer and life is a day, maturity comes in a cruel kind of way, but do I care, do I care?
I’ve asked all the questions and heard the replies so hollow with pity and acceptable lies, the autumn has bitten, the colours have gone, It seems in the end that I held the wrong one.
This thing that I’ve cherished completely in vain, a thing of such beauty has caused me such pain, but do I care, do I care?
October, and the trees are stripped bare, so beautiful were they, clothed in their innocence. But do I care?
Martyn Legg
Words - Martyn Legg
 |
| Wordle Picture Created by JCB |
Words - Martyn Legg
I place these thoughts upon the page
Expressing anger, full of rage
Broken promises and dreams
Endless nights and silent screams
Take these words and set them free
Let them be as they should be
I close the book the words are gone
Still the rage goes on and on
I place my heart within your hand
You know exactly where I stand
Fill these eyes with something new
Yet another glimpse of you
Words just come and then they go
There is no reason to their flow
Transcending time they state the pain
They speak of loss, they speak of gain
Could I control the way words fall
If I could live to use them all
Still there would be things left to say
Words enough to fill the day
Take these words and set them free…
Martyn Legg
Competition - November 2011
Various
Untitled - Aindre Reece-sheerin
Strange Iconic Sentinels
Stetching up towards the scattered light from a grey, cloud filled sky
You are the accepted symbol of our fallen men and women of wars current gone and by
Those perceived gallant lads and lasses, who gave their lives that we may celebrate our right
Our right to demonstrate against such loss of life and the futility of war
You who will never grow old, you whom we shall remember in each and every setting sun
You who fought and died in that which you believe was right
Whether victor or vanquished you fought your fight Never perhaps knowing the enemy in your sight
So with your crimson tops stretch on toward the light
Take with you their souls for us into the glorious light
Ask them to teach us how to live and not to fight
Ask them to show that only God has might and right
With your thin yet strong if at times tenuous grip
Show us that life is like the water you sip
Bitter and sweet, stormy and cold
But like those lost to us you will never grow old
So whether in flanders field or on erins green isle
If lost at sea and unknown no marker where you lay
Rise up my beauties and reach for the sky
Take heart, draw breath, for you need no longer sigh
As in God’s , and arms do you lie
comforted and free unlike this mortal coil
Aindre Reece-sheerin
Untitled - Aindre Reece-sheerin
Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few
Standing tall green with red flashes the poppies of the fields blow to and fro
Where we lay night and day waiting for the whistle blow - time to go once more into the breech
You wanna take some time but we’re still here still waiting waiting for the call
You say we’ll never grow old and you won’t forget us in the years and days
Can’t you smell it – its in the air war simply isn’t fair
I wanna take time time time
Just let me look on your face once more
Then close the door to forever more
Where once we stood too – where once we fought side by side
now Standing tall green with red flashes the poppies of the fields blow to and fro
The flashing’s not lightening, the silence is frightening
The Charge, as the whistles blow and the poppies flow to and fro
Its time to go, its time to go, time to go, time to go time to goooooooo
Aindre Reece-sheerin
Untitled - Aindre Reece-sheerin
There are no heroes no winners in WAR
The Blood, the mud the mutilated bodies and corpses
The stench in air, smoke filled and rotting flesh laying in their own excrement
Unable to be moved as yet for fear of mines
The smell of vomit on my clothes and in my hair
as I help those wounded to the butcher’s table
guillotined in anger and for what
only to die shorter and in even more pain
The screams of men once proud and steadfast
The whinny of horses, shell shocked and bloodied
The upheaval of earth, the stagnation of movement
The deafening of silence following each futile charge and barrage
The body strewn razor wire, lumps of humanity splattered and chopped here and there
The screech of the whistles commanding another onslaught against the scything guns
Quietude now, as it calls the all clear
Remains now only pain and hunger the last vestige of fear
Family pictures, mementos of loved one’s not near
Lest ye not forget me, remember what I gave and no I was not ‘Brave’
But I did what I believed right, and I took to the fight
as did he and she who brought the war to me
as then the poppies grow from my blood which did once flow
lest ye forget, we gave our lives to the futility of war
in the fervent hope, that you may never see what we saw
forget us not, stay ye firm and strong
hold our memories true and think sometimes of me
for we gave our lives believing that one day you would be free
Aindre Reece-sheerin
Ode to Fallen Heroes - John Buchanan
Their ranks did not sway
like rows of wheat.
They did all our nation asked
and then; gave more.
They that were so brave,
faced the onslaught,
like poppies in a storm;
resilient to the end.
We that survive them
owe a debt we cannot pay,
save to enjoy the freedoms;
each and every day.
If you see a scarlet flash;
on hedgerow, field, or path
pause a while, give thanks
and their memory will last.
John Buchanan
Remembrance - John Buchanan
The bugle calls ‘Last Post’
Silence descends
Some heads bow in prayer
Others gaze into the distance.
The wind stirred leaves
Swirl around the group
as if they’re the souls
Of the fallen - visiting.
In our minds
thoughts turn to those
who stood in harm’s way;
and met it.
Fallen heroes,
those buried with honour
at home and overseas
have names carved in stone.
Then there are the others;
those that did not die
but made it home with injuries
to body, mind or soul.
For all of them are changed
As a result of war
Either living with injuries
Or guilt or even what they saw.
When the Bugle calls ‘Rouse’
heads lift with tear in eye
The ‘grateful’ Nation reminded
Of the debt they owe and why.
John Buchanan
Heroes - John Buchanan
As the tempest’s mighty gusts cross the fields,
the wheat swirls and dances
like shoals of fish in the oceans deep.
- Amidst the tumult their ranks did not sway.
Among the golden wheat scarlet poppies stand tall,
delicate petals flap violently,
each gust threatens to disrobe the flower.
- Their ranks stood tall and proud against the storm.
Clouds churn in the sky as the storm rages
scudding across the heavens,
carried unwillingly by the mighty wind.
- Our heroes stood and fought for freedom.
The wheat in the fields lies flattened,
poppies are battered and torn,
storm clouds and heroes departed.
- Whilst the names that bought freedom live on.
Carved on stone memorials
erected in village squares.
For much of the year forgotten
- save for, by those left behind.
Some have their souls forsaken;
others gave bodies or minds,
many have images that haunt them
- the rest of their God given lives?
In November poppies are worn
As a roll that grows longer is read.
The nation remembers their sacrifice
- one they’re making yet.
So between Last Post and Rouse
As we silently mark our respect
Remember it’s not just the departed
- to whom the Nation’s in debt.
John Buchanan
Nature’s Ode to Man - Kirstie 'Brap' Tostevin
I grieved as war murdered my children and I,
Bombs tore up the soil and blackened the sky.
Men lay silent and still atop barren terrain;
never before have I witnessed such pain.
I opened the sky. Drenched the ground with my tears
to quench each man’s thirst; wash away all his fears.
I was tempted to punish, for killing my land,
but stopped when I saw a man hold out his hand
to his brother. The hopeful love to which you all cling
is why I instructed the birds still, to sing.
From each death I offer a symbol of life,
to remember the battle, the cost and the strife.
To mirror man’s debt I have painted them red;
scattered seeds o’er dirt as a colourful bed.
While mortals are fleeting - through time I can soar -
and cover with bloom those who sleep evermore.
The loss of the earth was a loss of life, too.
In growing this flower I shall mourn with you.
Kirstie 'Brap' Tostevin
Untitled - Martyn Legg
Poppies bloom, upon such peaceful, tortured land
As memories, seeded by some grieving hand
Blood red, showing us the pain and loss
Of war, and all its dross
So we a wiser people turn to face the day
In which to learn to love instead of hate.
Martyn Legg
Remember - Denise Bishop
Today I wore my Poppy, I wore it with such pride,
Remembering those before us, who fought for us and died.
Then there were the families of those that did not come back home,
Today if things go wrong for us, we have the cheek to moan.
Remember those who fought for us during that awful war,
Remember all those Soldiers, what they were fighting for.
This poem may be quite simple, but Oh so very true.
They fought for me, for us, for him, for her and also You.
They died for us our future, they did not live to see,
I keep a Poppy in my car as a stark reminder to me.
Imagine walking through a mine field, wandering where to tread.,
A Soldiers mind working overtime, his thoughts are filled with dread.
My Poppy is with me always, from January until December.
Every time I look at it, with the greatest respect
I Remember.
Denise Bishop
Strange Iconic Sentinels
Stetching up towards the scattered light from a grey, cloud filled sky
You are the accepted symbol of our fallen men and women of wars current gone and by
Those perceived gallant lads and lasses, who gave their lives that we may celebrate our right
Our right to demonstrate against such loss of life and the futility of war
You who will never grow old, you whom we shall remember in each and every setting sun
You who fought and died in that which you believe was right
Whether victor or vanquished you fought your fight Never perhaps knowing the enemy in your sight
So with your crimson tops stretch on toward the light
Take with you their souls for us into the glorious light
Ask them to teach us how to live and not to fight
Ask them to show that only God has might and right
With your thin yet strong if at times tenuous grip
Show us that life is like the water you sip
Bitter and sweet, stormy and cold
But like those lost to us you will never grow old
So whether in flanders field or on erins green isle
If lost at sea and unknown no marker where you lay
Rise up my beauties and reach for the sky
Take heart, draw breath, for you need no longer sigh
As in God’s , and arms do you lie
comforted and free unlike this mortal coil
Aindre Reece-sheerin
Untitled - Aindre Reece-sheerin
Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few
Standing tall green with red flashes the poppies of the fields blow to and fro
Where we lay night and day waiting for the whistle blow - time to go once more into the breech
You wanna take some time but we’re still here still waiting waiting for the call
You say we’ll never grow old and you won’t forget us in the years and days
Can’t you smell it – its in the air war simply isn’t fair
I wanna take time time time
Just let me look on your face once more
Then close the door to forever more
Where once we stood too – where once we fought side by side
now Standing tall green with red flashes the poppies of the fields blow to and fro
The flashing’s not lightening, the silence is frightening
The Charge, as the whistles blow and the poppies flow to and fro
Its time to go, its time to go, time to go, time to go time to goooooooo
Aindre Reece-sheerin
Untitled - Aindre Reece-sheerin
There are no heroes no winners in WAR
The Blood, the mud the mutilated bodies and corpses
The stench in air, smoke filled and rotting flesh laying in their own excrement
Unable to be moved as yet for fear of mines
The smell of vomit on my clothes and in my hair
as I help those wounded to the butcher’s table
guillotined in anger and for what
only to die shorter and in even more pain
The screams of men once proud and steadfast
The whinny of horses, shell shocked and bloodied
The upheaval of earth, the stagnation of movement
The deafening of silence following each futile charge and barrage
The body strewn razor wire, lumps of humanity splattered and chopped here and there
The screech of the whistles commanding another onslaught against the scything guns
Quietude now, as it calls the all clear
Remains now only pain and hunger the last vestige of fear
Family pictures, mementos of loved one’s not near
Lest ye not forget me, remember what I gave and no I was not ‘Brave’
But I did what I believed right, and I took to the fight
as did he and she who brought the war to me
as then the poppies grow from my blood which did once flow
lest ye forget, we gave our lives to the futility of war
in the fervent hope, that you may never see what we saw
forget us not, stay ye firm and strong
hold our memories true and think sometimes of me
for we gave our lives believing that one day you would be free
Aindre Reece-sheerin
Ode to Fallen Heroes - John Buchanan
Their ranks did not sway
like rows of wheat.
They did all our nation asked
and then; gave more.
They that were so brave,
faced the onslaught,
like poppies in a storm;
resilient to the end.
We that survive them
owe a debt we cannot pay,
save to enjoy the freedoms;
each and every day.
If you see a scarlet flash;
on hedgerow, field, or path
pause a while, give thanks
and their memory will last.
John Buchanan
Remembrance - John Buchanan
The bugle calls ‘Last Post’
Silence descends
Some heads bow in prayer
Others gaze into the distance.
The wind stirred leaves
Swirl around the group
as if they’re the souls
Of the fallen - visiting.
In our minds
thoughts turn to those
who stood in harm’s way;
and met it.
Fallen heroes,
those buried with honour
at home and overseas
have names carved in stone.
Then there are the others;
those that did not die
but made it home with injuries
to body, mind or soul.
For all of them are changed
As a result of war
Either living with injuries
Or guilt or even what they saw.
When the Bugle calls ‘Rouse’
heads lift with tear in eye
The ‘grateful’ Nation reminded
Of the debt they owe and why.
John Buchanan
Heroes - John Buchanan
As the tempest’s mighty gusts cross the fields,
the wheat swirls and dances
like shoals of fish in the oceans deep.
- Amidst the tumult their ranks did not sway.
Among the golden wheat scarlet poppies stand tall,
delicate petals flap violently,
each gust threatens to disrobe the flower.
- Their ranks stood tall and proud against the storm.
Clouds churn in the sky as the storm rages
scudding across the heavens,
carried unwillingly by the mighty wind.
- Our heroes stood and fought for freedom.
The wheat in the fields lies flattened,
poppies are battered and torn,
storm clouds and heroes departed.
- Whilst the names that bought freedom live on.
Carved on stone memorials
erected in village squares.
For much of the year forgotten
- save for, by those left behind.
Some have their souls forsaken;
others gave bodies or minds,
many have images that haunt them
- the rest of their God given lives?
In November poppies are worn
As a roll that grows longer is read.
The nation remembers their sacrifice
- one they’re making yet.
So between Last Post and Rouse
As we silently mark our respect
Remember it’s not just the departed
- to whom the Nation’s in debt.
John Buchanan
Nature’s Ode to Man - Kirstie 'Brap' Tostevin
I grieved as war murdered my children and I,
Bombs tore up the soil and blackened the sky.
Men lay silent and still atop barren terrain;
never before have I witnessed such pain.
I opened the sky. Drenched the ground with my tears
to quench each man’s thirst; wash away all his fears.
I was tempted to punish, for killing my land,
but stopped when I saw a man hold out his hand
to his brother. The hopeful love to which you all cling
is why I instructed the birds still, to sing.
From each death I offer a symbol of life,
to remember the battle, the cost and the strife.
To mirror man’s debt I have painted them red;
scattered seeds o’er dirt as a colourful bed.
While mortals are fleeting - through time I can soar -
and cover with bloom those who sleep evermore.
The loss of the earth was a loss of life, too.
In growing this flower I shall mourn with you.
Kirstie 'Brap' Tostevin
Untitled - Martyn Legg
Poppies bloom, upon such peaceful, tortured land
As memories, seeded by some grieving hand
Blood red, showing us the pain and loss
Of war, and all its dross
So we a wiser people turn to face the day
In which to learn to love instead of hate.
Martyn Legg
Remember - Denise Bishop
Today I wore my Poppy, I wore it with such pride,
Remembering those before us, who fought for us and died.
Then there were the families of those that did not come back home,
Today if things go wrong for us, we have the cheek to moan.
Remember those who fought for us during that awful war,
Remember all those Soldiers, what they were fighting for.
This poem may be quite simple, but Oh so very true.
They fought for me, for us, for him, for her and also You.
They died for us our future, they did not live to see,
I keep a Poppy in my car as a stark reminder to me.
Imagine walking through a mine field, wandering where to tread.,
A Soldiers mind working overtime, his thoughts are filled with dread.
My Poppy is with me always, from January until December.
Every time I look at it, with the greatest respect
I Remember.
Denise Bishop
Competition - August 2011
Various
Untitled - Martyn Legg
The child’s path is held within the father’s hands
Never does he plan for us to wander
Never does he plan for us to fall
Yet we stumble through misdirection
Stagger from uphill climbs
We so readily step away from guidance
Pursuing darkened routes toward pain and loss
Standing so alone we talk down the very one that would have lead us
Blindly stepping out on unknown paths
Arrogantly leaping towards the darker way
Struggling to be free of all embrace.
Martyn Legg
Hopefullness - Yasmin Mariess
I see hope in those toes,
a journey that starts with one (baby) step.
Will they climb mountains? Who knows. These toes.
Maybe just the mundane, stuff of everyday.
Ballet lessons? Kicking a football? Sand between the toes?
Who knows.
Sweet things, baby toes.
Yasmin Mariess
Perfect Ten ~ For Elanor - John Buchanan
The proud father’s stands,
holding in his hands
a new-born child.
He tickles her feet
with manicured nail
forging a love that’ll never fail.
Fingers dwarf her little feet,
Perfectly formed and complete
Ten tiny toes
In two neat rows
Where they’ll carry her
No one knows.
He runs a finger from toe to heel,
she lets out a tiny squeal
and curls her toes.
In years to come she’ll not know
He holds the moment in his mind
when his love for her was first enshrined,
John Buchanan
Untitled - Jayne Le Couilliard
I made you, I hold you.
My hands so big, your feet so small,
I'm here to hold you whenever you fall.
But for now I just
want to hold you
Jayne Le Couilliard
The child’s path is held within the father’s hands
Never does he plan for us to wander
Never does he plan for us to fall
Yet we stumble through misdirection
Stagger from uphill climbs
We so readily step away from guidance
Pursuing darkened routes toward pain and loss
Standing so alone we talk down the very one that would have lead us
Blindly stepping out on unknown paths
Arrogantly leaping towards the darker way
Struggling to be free of all embrace.
Martyn Legg
Hopefullness - Yasmin Mariess
I see hope in those toes,
a journey that starts with one (baby) step.
Will they climb mountains? Who knows. These toes.
Maybe just the mundane, stuff of everyday.
Ballet lessons? Kicking a football? Sand between the toes?
Who knows.
Sweet things, baby toes.
Yasmin Mariess
Perfect Ten ~ For Elanor - John Buchanan
The proud father’s stands,
holding in his hands
a new-born child.
He tickles her feet
with manicured nail
forging a love that’ll never fail.
Fingers dwarf her little feet,
Perfectly formed and complete
Ten tiny toes
In two neat rows
Where they’ll carry her
No one knows.
He runs a finger from toe to heel,
she lets out a tiny squeal
and curls her toes.
In years to come she’ll not know
He holds the moment in his mind
when his love for her was first enshrined,
John Buchanan
Untitled - Jayne Le Couilliard
I made you, I hold you.
My hands so big, your feet so small,
I'm here to hold you whenever you fall.
But for now I just
want to hold you
Jayne Le Couilliard
Competition Winner - April 2011
The Colours of Guernsey - Martyn Legg
Stone upon stone, life upon life
We lie with each other and lie to each other
Below ground, above ground
We are built upon each other
Clothed by previous lives
Purged by ancient prayers
Without each other we are dust
Together we are a wall of humanity
Reaching, trusting, falling, failing
Mote flecks of impassioned lives
Ethereal glimpses of dreams gone by
Stone upon stone, hope upon hope
Standing tall against the flood of life…
Martyn Legg
We lie with each other and lie to each other
Below ground, above ground
We are built upon each other
Clothed by previous lives
Purged by ancient prayers
Without each other we are dust
Together we are a wall of humanity
Reaching, trusting, falling, failing
Mote flecks of impassioned lives
Ethereal glimpses of dreams gone by
Stone upon stone, hope upon hope
Standing tall against the flood of life…
Martyn Legg
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