Paddy J. P. Harris Poems

The world is cold, just like the wind that blows
Laden with icy rain from cruellest north,
That strikes the trees and hills, yet still it flows
Until no creature dares to venture forth.
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What is the dawn but a greying and a chill
Of damp and frost that, like a sullen ghost,
Passes through the body and the Earth?
They feel it not; they were here before the dawn,
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You’ve failed. Life remains unslain.
So brew your darkling clouds and rain,
Or even more snow, if you think that you can.
Can’t you hear that underground?
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Entangled in my twisted roots,
Below this grassy lea,
There lies a man whose soul has sailed
Across the moonlit sea.
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For one night, just one earthly night,
Bind our hearts to the happy twilight.
Let the ever chained stars roam free,
And cast into chaos the banners of East and West.
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No paean or pageant, no doleful rhyme,
No fey divination or light hearted jibe.
No verse should ever be sung of Him.
A wraith, a shadow, a tasteless wind.
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Let me sit upon timeless rocks
And watch for hours the heaving sea.
Have the sun rise and set and still remain
As steadfast as the Earth on which I sit.
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Reality is the prose of life
By her divine pen writ
We all within her novel sit
Bound with all her mortal strife
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We’ll walk through weal and woe,
Until our feet do glow.
We’ll follow every corner round,
Until farthest north is found.
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