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Fiona Burgess Poems
I’m tired, I’m tired of being strong, When everyone else needs me to be I’m tired of holding back my dreams So someone else can be free
I stand upon a midnight beach The wind dances round me Keeping my happiness out of reach In time to the thundering sea.
Living In The Desert Of My Dreams
Standing here on the shore of life A coastline battered by violence and strife Behind me churns an angry sea Ahead lies a road unknown, as yet, by me.
Cry! Cry! The Silence
Cry cry the silence 'Set us free We want to be Don't leave us to drift
And the dancer danced She danced her life away For an audience who wasn’t there To music no one could hear
The Winter Of My Soul
Cold morning, frozen earth Frost lying like a blanket The cool breeze cuts like a knife Through the thick blanket
For the Love of the Game
For the love of the game We rise before dawn Rain, hail, wind and shine For the sake of the game we greet the morn
Nowhere to Go
I stare from my open window At the world below Tiny people scurrying around All dressed up with nowhere to go
A Small Hope
When did our shadows learn to cry? Their fears and worries No longer set aside Like gleaming moons in winter skies
Shall I defy the wind with my rage? Challenge the ocean with my tears? Shall I fight my way from this mortal cage And summon the courage to face my fears?
I'm sorry that I hurt you That I made you cry I'm sorry that I had to leave Without saying goodbye.
The dirty city sun glares down on a wind beaten track The echoing voice of the commentator Mingles with the sound of traffic, pulsing along the freeway The air is thick with tension and excitement
Falling stars these memories from torn histories Buffeted by the winds of time Plummeting from the archives of the mind Chased by music and out into the night
Welcome To This Place Called Hate
Welcome to this place called Hate You named it and made it yours Was it destiny or fate? Direction or choice?
Comments about Fiona Burgess
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
I’m tired, I’m tired of being strong,
When everyone else needs me to be
I’m tired of holding back my dreams
So someone else can be free
I’m tired of putting on a brave face
And holding back my tears
I’m tired of picking up the pieces
Of someone else’s fears
I’m tired of keeping up appearances
And walking in someone else’s shade
I’m tired of going the extra mile
To help someone else get made
I’m tired of accepting the blame
For other peoples errors
I’m tired or being the one to pay
Hello? I have my own terrors
The kind that visit in the ...