A Burning Thread

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The seagulls are crying

Swirling up the spray

Upon the ocean of my mind

Blown, by a breeze of yesterday.

Oh! the simple gentle thoughts

The loneliness of the prisoner

To see the golden mermaid of the rock

Yet, to be cut adrift from her.

The mind knows no doors

A burning candle in the night

To seek the green or grey of yesterday

Or the “if” the “wish” or “might.”

In the tomb the darkest depths

The candle flickers dying

Death is slaying life unseen

While the seagulls are crying.

from Bobby Sands Writings from Prison Mercier Press 1998

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