170308A
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Of all the various desires
that a man can have,
finding no desire
to be in the coffin,
any quicker,
on St. Paddy's day.
No desire to turn green
as green within
as the beer is green,
without
avoiding a coffin shade
on St. Paddy's day.
Having driven off
and killed some s****s,
I can be with the crowd
only in spirit,
same as St. Paddy,
on St. Paddy's day.
Though I mourn the loss
of any lovely Irish lass
that I never really had,
and never really ever will,
alone with St. Paddy,
on St. Paddy's day.
Drink one for St. Paddy,
drink one for an Irish lass,
one for me, one for country,
one for the Queen,
and drink to the devil
if that's not enough.
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170308B
-----------
That same emptiness,
as that emptiness within
vacant structures.
Something glimpsed,
in an unlit room,
Shadows
of trashed objects
played on the walls of caves..
The scattered fallen,
left there,
behind the glass.
You are gone,
and I am in the bunker,
wondering
who will come next,
now that you are gone.
You became a deserter,
when I needed you most,
too cowardly to say
that you were leaving
before the battle
became fierce.
Too many deserters,
before you joined them,
and everyone follows
what they feel that they must.
You took the last bullet,
when you left me,
leaving an empty chamber,
secretly knowing
there were moments
I wanted nothing much more
than to die in your arms.
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170308C
-----------
Winter took them,
the way it takes most things.
Carves everything down
to the bone.
Leaves the garbage,
scattered rumors,
breaking through
blackened ice and snow.
One can watch it shrink
into trickles of sorrow,
reflecting other faces,
and the facades of buildings
where strangers
protect what is their's.
Most of the survivors
are jealous and frightened,
keeping to their own,
and avoiding anything
reminding them of solitude.
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