fergus michael joy condron Poems

Yes you may write of long lost love, the pounding in your heart that will not cease, shall not let you be.

But now the pen and the paper shall conspire to be your own worst enemy, you shall know no rest, your mind will now always be distant from those around you, and they shall never understand the deep heated feelings of your words.
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Once the world was full of joy and summers kiss touched my brow and the evening’s laughter kept me from the sane but madding crowd.
Remember all the happy times and the friends and all that stuff, let me offer you now my deafened ears, don’t talk to me about love.

That night that swooned across that room. Our eyes they kissed and touched, sweet hazy bloom of one so soon, then tip toed through the lust.
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Blazed white is the Easter Lilly, ye shall find no blemish on her, she bends gently with the calling breeze and of her thoughts, the soil still roars.
Only the very safe, it is, who may speak of wrong's and right's, the mighty sword of empires, cloak of death by day and night.
Shall I find you as a statue, remembered in the town, should I search and find your lonely grave, where they coldly cut you down.
Should I ask myself the questions, as I walk the sweet boreen, where I may pick the lilies white, where they grow so proud, serene?
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