Finbar-Orton

Flowing amber parts my lips it fogs my thoughts and clears my mind that, with ever larger sips I reach for every glass I find.

Roll the bones and call their fate bind it to the dices’ weight bet the world upon a throw for better that than all you know and with each loss, and with each win the fulcrum fattens as you thin.

Enraptured once more In the turning of pages Day fall to the word

Hunt the living burn the dead salt the ground on which they tread. Raise the fences cut the trees bring the region to its knees. Swift to slaughter slow to grieve fight the plague that cannot leave.

Through open window comes the breeze under door and down the way slow, then swiftly, here to freeze as winter holds the spring at bay.

Salt gathers water Droplets fade to a white crust Rust covers the spoon

A feast of souls to stretch the hour in ruins breath, for gathered power I raise the sword of spited fate to slay the world that I devour.

Pale in the dawn I am rising to darken with wrath in recall the blade leaps to hand as I turn on the band, blood-soaked and pale I fall.

Follow down the water’s path by mud and polished stone where, mirror smooth or roiling churn the seeds of life are sown.

Fields of fire, fields of grass swift to grow and swift to pass until a river breaks the spread but on the bank, it eats the dead.

icy winds were blowing the day we sung for you the people gathering the little church breathing alive in this moment as our voices lament we prayed and wept huddled together remembering you and only you the doors flung open the skies lifted and the sun peered forth Avé Maria you laid shouldered between stone cold graves we will remember and come singing. The petals drifting our hands unclasped as the roses float down.. down.. down.. Hushed voices as the silence shudders that little old church stands sullen we remember