Turlough
Here comes the flood
The beat of rain in the dark,
Here comes the water,
Streams of pain make their mark.
A shoreline appears,
From the stone come angry waves,
A sinking in tears,
Of moments that nobody saves
The flotsam and leftovers,
Of the lost and the gone,
Are tearing at the souls
Of those that move on
The lake is returning,
Chewing on edges of fields,
They can be mourned,
Sadly in deepness that seals
The Turlough is born,
Again from the summer’s retreat,
The seasons will turn,
But seconds will hammer and beat
The friction and filing
Of the self by the slip
Is scraping the core,
Of the centre we grip
A surface so rough,
Broke up by currents and air,
The thought is enough
To flood the heart with despair
Our world can be dark,
Punctured by few days of sun,
The way can be stark,
These wet roads flow into one.
Sit there and watch
As it swallows the ground in a gale
Kneel now to catch
The sunken reminding detail
The flotsam and leftovers,
Of the lost and the gone,
Are tearing up the souls
Of those that move on
The friction and filing
Of the self by the slip
Is scraping the core,
Of the centre we grip
