Patrick Poem by Patrick Fealy

Stripped of human virtue
a man is just a slave
in the garden of his liberty
he is wanton and depraved
Servitude will grieve him
and pain will prick his pride
to the emerald shores of Ireland
young men went off to die
Ireland was a prison
a land of no return
It was there that pirates dragged their catch
to slave and never earn
To heathen kings with blood red rings
young men were sold and bought
Death found it's dominion there
where the bones of men were sought
Before the king of heaven came
To chase the snakes from land
Patrick marched in galling chains
In the fields of Ireland
Druid priests made sacrifice
In the kingdom of the snake
There Patrick slew his demons
when his will he would forsake
His pillow was a cold wet stone
His mantle was the hay
Throughout the night in banshee winds
Young Patrick used to pray
At last a voice within him spoke
and called him by his name
not out from nature's stormy wrath
but the spark within the flame
As perfect love drove out all fear
his life began to grow
heaven spread it's kingdom there
to the baron earth below
St Patrick was no Rockstar,
no fool upon a hill
But every Irish Catholic knows
what snakes he was to kill