Finbar-Orton

Dusk, fallen to stars As the moon lies in shadow Of the midnight world

Hold it close and hold it dear lash your soul unto its course let it bind the chains of fear to your end without remorse.

Fight against the tide Hopeless and unrelenting For another day

The sun high above Shining and of endless warmth Vanished in the clouds

Tend to the living All grown of our fallen world Who follow in turn

Stricken, the foe awaits to mark the journey and the final gate in how the end is met.

I think again of words to harm and frailties learned through long held trust that would end the joyous calm and turn the iron bond to rust, I hide those words with practiced charm I keep my peace and keep the trust.

Rise to the call and advance forward to fury and pain for honour, by measure and chance led to the slaughter again.

Dawn hangs over the lighthouse in ochre and iron-grey cloud framing the heights and the headlands it awes the first morning crowd.

The sunset hangs low for a moment that lasts all an unending age in glory of ochre and crimson as darkness claims the stage.