The White Rose Tree

The red rose lay on the ground
Knocked from the tree by the small kids
It lay there, what becomes of it
Does it blow away and dissappear
Maybe a passing man will pick it up
No two things in life are the same
But I suppose there ending will always be alike

The small kids that climbed that tree
What becomes of them
Do they dissappear as well
Just like most people in this world
Do they just fade into the darkness
behind the curtains of life
Just another passing drone

Maybe there’s a bigger picture here
That I'm always missing
Maybe the rose has a purpose
The passing man who could of picked up the rose

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poem by Niall Boland
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The Noble Forgotten

I remember the old stories my granddad told
About the dead the dying the brave and the bold
Those who kissed their lives away
To die alone in some war torn bay

They saved the lives of a thousand men
Their noble lives thrown to the tan tien
to lie in a ditch slowly to die
no mercy to those who's last call was a cry

Every man told was noble and just
they died alone ashes and dust
those brave men condemned to rest
the right thing to do ended in death
The last of the great breed died in vain
the world has forgotten those fallen and slain
Why is it the noble die alone
nothing but rotten skin and bone

The world is owned by greed and lust

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poem by Niall Boland
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