Troubled Land

Emerald Isle why lacerate your soul
and stain your mantle red?
Has the inner strife not settled yet?
Are not enough people dead?
Mother Ireland why watch them fall?
Why must the innocent bleed?
Your children rise in violence,
dark in both thought and deed.

My native land, I see you torn
and death come at a stone’s throw.
An adult world of adult hate,
no place for a child to grow.
Your towns and cities, blocked and bombed,
barricades stop love and reason.
When will the hell and torture end?
When the finale to this black season?

Your countryside is full of those
who plot anarchy and death,
although they profess to love one God
in bombs they place true faith.
My homeland, when will it stop?
When will light break through?
How long for bitterness to fade?
When will Christ’s words ring true?

Ireland’s fresh green fields abound
with snipers, bombs and mines,
her pavements strewn with debris
just as in former times.
Her history is as bloody
as are these present days,
it will take more than names on paper
to heal inbred hating ways
More than smiles and promises
to restore the trust in eyes
more than famous people
to return the truth from lies,
More than Christmas ceasefires
to give peace another trial
more than reassuring words
to bring back honest smiles.
It will take more than my lifetime
for peace to come again,
more than even time itself
to soothe your bitter pain.