Ronan Hardiman - "Cry Of The Celts"

the bell is calling.
he wants to answer, wants to go back and find them,
but the iron is holding him. he's locked
and his world is far away
and the hills where they danced,
the mounds that they ruled,
are trodden only by ghosts while the bodies lie
beneath the bell he can hear.

so he tries to smile.
he's blond, bright-eyed, clothes so colourful;
it's obvious he's from another place.
a happier one.
one where the ground isn't cracked, but grassy,
and the sky is clear of this neverending rain...

happier, that is, until THEY came.
now his people are lost and the dances they led
through the streets of the town,
the parties, the drinking -
that's all gone now.

he's gaining speed on this journey AWAY,
away from them all.

and the bell is still calling him
but he is going too fast to stop. 

The End

20 comments about this exercise Feed