c505218304b50c59c3659f6dda43bae7-links-13–>c505218304b50c59c3659f6dda43bae7-links-12–>c505218304b50c59c3659f6dda43bae7-links-11–>c505218304b50c59c3659f6dda43bae7-links-10–>c505218304b50c59c3659f6dda43bae7-links-9–>c505218304b50c59c3659f6dda43bae7-links-8–>c505218304b50c59c3659f6dda43bae7-links-7–>c505218304b50c59c3659f6dda43bae7-links-6–>c505218304b50c59c3659f6dda43bae7-links-5–>c505218304b50c59c3659f6dda43bae7-links-4–>c505218304b50c59c3659f6dda43bae7-links-3–>c505218304b50c59c3659f6dda43bae7-links-2–>c505218304b50c59c3659f6dda43bae7-links-1–>c505218304b50c59c3659f6dda43bae7-links-0–>u> I have just returned from the very successful launch of Sean Maguire’s new book, History Tomorrow. The author has permitted one more poem to be reproduced here.
I have just returned from the very successful launch of Sean Maguire’s new book, History Tomorrow. The author has permitted one more poem to be reproduced here.
It’s entitled, "Tears for Winter Island".
Tears drench sombre faces
as trees bear summer fruits;
mothers scrimp and save to pay
for dead men’s suits.
Solitude takes hold whilst empty
chairs fill lonely spaces.
Shadows scorn solemn crowds,
nailing their colours to a fragile mast;
Winter Island embraced the ghosts
that haunt the past.
Pain comes and goes like changing tides,
stark reminders of the hurt inflicted
during forgotten years.
Memories are all that remain now,
tucked away, solace for our darkest fears.
Winter Island sighs; draws deeply
on its dying breath.
Tears, bitter tears that flow
in human streams, are calm now
seducing our hopes and wildest dreams.