Personal Legacy




Personal Legacy

I had a friend big and strong, during the days we got along,

Out of school and on the street, play was simple, we done no wrong.

Cowboys and Indians, fish and chips, lolly pops and onion rings.

Collecting the boney, watching TV, we would talk for hours of many things.


But the troubles came; the days grew dark, no more child’s play in the park,

We learnt new things like petrol bombs, the riots played out like a lark.

And worse it got, we heard the cries, some of us said we’ll join the fray.

There was different talk at the end of the day, and we had to watch what would we say.


The darkness grew and spread abroad, some got a uniform, while others joined.

Things had to be done, the order tall, the cost would be high, for some it was all.

Cordite smell and thunderous noise, sirens ringing and screaming men.

It’s in the eyes and in the head, at the end of the day, we know what can’t be said.


The years roll on, the troubles cost, Diplock courts and a place called the Kesh,

Time now to talk, debate and discuss, but the violence goes on as it knows no rest,

Soon the release, meet old friends; change is about but the peace is unheard,

At funerals and wakes we meet again and we really know what can’t be said.


A policeman’s bullet, a friend is dead, be thankful you were not hit on the head.

Another sentence, questions raised, but the wound has left you paralysed.

We meet again and talk of now, we help our friends go by and by.

The quiet of an evening, of friends that are dead, but we totally know what cannot be said.


Your demons grow within your head, the bottle left you sick in bed,

You seemed far, and ill at ease, the violent, the wounds that bleed.

Haunted eyes that seen so much, the body hurt, the nerves that shred.

Despite the friendship and total trust, there are still those things that can’t be said.


The grave has you now, it’s over and done, the last years of turmoil, the suffering long.

Well liked and loved, a character of note, a blessing to end the torture of stroke.

The world has changed, as indeed it must, and you my friend I do entrust,

Now that you are released, no more the dread, and there will be things, that will never ever be said.



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