Untitled Series Part 11

There are times when one is writing on topics or on an area which has great importance or indeed great meaning, that it becomes amongst the hardest to complete writing on that itself. Basically saying, todays post has been amongst the hardest to compose and write on.

BUT still it was important for myself to finish such a project for the sake of closing the door on some areas. Although this is a poem and as a part of “The Untitled Series” It helps at this point it remains unnamed. Not that it means much, but there is a place close to where I grew up that is full of memories, because it has a view over the entire area that I grew up in.

Thus “Voices that carry with the wind” are sounds that come through the years with memories of folks and important happenings. Some folks no longer walk amongst us and long snce past. Thus todays poem is one that carries memories, but most important I have tried to show a slight struggle to avoid letting such memories roam free.

I do hope that folks reading this will understand where this poem comes from and the importance to face some memories even after many years. There are always people and places that will carry great importance and meaning to us, that we need to embrace on occasions.

Having said all of this, Please enjoy this poem:

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((This photograph has been taken from an outside source and posted with thanks. But copyrite remains with those who worked hard on such photographs.))

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Untitled Series Part 11




No angels e’er come to play o’er these hills,
Here no thrills are found, confound or yet kills.
Still thoughts carry me back, where I call home,
Watching seasons pass as if to e’er roam.


Clouds pass over head as colours turn grey,
Like days cast in rain a colour did sway.
Brought to mind with the wind that carry me,
I labour to forget and count to three.
  

No frills or spills exist nor shelter care,
For a heart deep in winters share, I swear.
Yet deep in the forest of despair sits, 
One longing to hear your voice it admits.


The Voices of youth still rings in my ears,
The haunting sound cries through the years with beers.
Wandering past trees that carried their sounds,
Here none can forget youthful years that grounds.


Railing the years and city bound again,
Memories that days of my youth yet drain.
Captivated and silenced in these years,
Thoughts shall clear with fading tears, yet fears clears.




© Pat Fitzgerald 2023 

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Thank you for reading this far into this post, It means a lot to me that folks read my work and enjoy them. Some poetry contain topics that may or may not contain issues that readers either agree with or experience or simply will disagree with. But still Poetry is a form of art work that I enjoy and thus using it in a manner to touch the reader.

My path through writing and publishing it on this blog is a journey beyond any expectations. So my thanks to you for joining me on this journey.

Poetry for me is a constant learning curve that I always strive to improve. Often due to the speed of my typing and a few other issues, mistakes and typos will find their way into published posts. I continue to work on improving this as I move along. My thanks for your understanding this.

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Until Next Time Cheers.

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