Exodus – The Leaving
From fields we came where often blood was shed
Of men from France, a land so far afield
And England too, they the sword and bloodshed knew
Few they who’d their position easy yield.
From cold earth, stony, soft earth rush ridden
Our people they strove, a living for to make
Not to be rich, from bounty of the land
Merely to survive, for its own sake.
Rebellions: they came and went, world wars too
Civil wars, all caused bitterness and pain
Death visited each act of the Savage Play
All men lost, for a while did any gain.
The one constant, hungry mouths to be fed
Worry – the year’s harvest – enough would bring?
America, escape, always beckoned
Land where men could’ve all: everything.
Some men went in their time, fewer returned
To till lands their fathers with horses ploughed
Some men chased riches, they are running still
A race the more you race, the more allowed.
More sought solace in whoring arms of drink
That Lady who to all will comfort give
Her kisses – as false permanent the night!
Faced the new day sober each man must live.
The land a cruel mistress of promises
The little she gives, it’s but a token
False, real enough to make man carry on
Hoping bigger promise wont be broken
But it always is, life it is a struggle
Should man choose to eke living from the land
Before a man to break the earth with plough
This universal truth must understand.
But men are born to this life, to this game
Annual gamble with nature we often lose
Never to win, rare draw, often know loss.
It’s not a game or team to join we choose.
In time a stranger to this land she came
Fluttering eye’s, she brave promises made
Follow her, know all life has to offer
Leave land of your forefathers, she bade.
Man, as if love stricken, rose from his seat
Pledged follow the fair damsel where she went
Rarely saw her, and sought more to see
But he always of her, he knew her scent.
She brought him from his forefathers land
He left them behind him, lands and bones
Chase factories riches, far from the land
No more struggling sick cattle, rushes, stones.
She brought him from his culture, all he knew
To a land of strangers, though of his blood
Happy was he to be on road he chose
Yet he knew to have left, he never should.
As if ghosts – they of generations past
Cried through times veil – you’ve forsaken us!!!
Yet he pressed on, and with each step he made
Started for his family, the Exodus.
Exodus – the Wandering
Drumlin hills, curves pleasing to the eye
Played host to a man. his dreams for a while
But the promises of a Promised Land
Were left behind, to walk another mile
More battle scenes where River Shannon flows
Gave host in peaceful times to man
Eternal wanderer of a notion
Making living every way he can.
The two staid friends, to which he always turned
Stood by him, times of trial, as friends true
Mistress Land, so false her promises be
Also the Brown Bog, as a friend he knew.
But the Mistress Drink, she too conform gave
As she done to many other’s before
Made the journey more bearable for a time
Gave heart to him to work and wander more.
A new friend, Master Stone, made himself known
When all else was gone, somewhere he’d be
Not much help, but the only help when needed
If all men they could have a friend like he!
The worlds whirling dance of economy
Ebbed and flowed, Capitalism master then!
Our wanderer home found in a Shannon town
Where he sleeps now, never to wander again!
Exodus – the Return
His son, a wanderer himself by heart
By Shannon grew up, never learned to swim
Was at home everywhere and no where
Sought to live, work wherever, on a whim
Saw Europe’s lands as a man passing through
On the great journey that is life’s road
To see the world for rushed weeks he could afford
Returning taking up Capitalism’s load.
Grew up to stories of a land that was but a dream
Of both his parents, who long stories told
Of when they were young, carefree in fields played
And of speaks of other folks who then were old.
This land, came and went in the youngsters mind
Who grew to dance the Promises given
By Capitalism, his fathers hearts mistress
Her lies soon understood, not forgiven.
Two souls in their time back to earth given
Far from their forefathers, their old land
But many towns, and many peoples
Of them have known, actions of word and hand.
They lie now, among strangers who became friends
In workplaces, neighborhoods, the local bar
That is life for all men, both great and small
Human: it’s what we all, for all we are.
To those bloodsoaked fields of former times
French and English gored each other with Pike
Irishmen brave fighting on both sides
Depending on which at the time they’d like!
The Son now returns, wandering over
To bones of ancestors that he in time he’ll be
But in photo a face, hopefully others
Will in time live in this land like he.
All men they are dreamers, they seek a dream
Travel wide, on promises by others made
Proven as false. permanent as the night
On death all men set to sleep under spade.
All men seek to live among the tribe
Among others they identify as “us”
And so with the son, to his roots returns
So it ends this tribes short Exodus.