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Writer's pictureMichael Hawes

Where Runs A Restless Sea

My blood sometimes whispers

the secrets of ancestral lands

my unconscious mass memory

of the works of many hands


Of a place both green and grey

where there runs a restless sea

three old women sit near a fire

while they weave my destiny


Steadfast, united, eternal

all those who are my kin

our arms are drawn for battle

and our cries still paint the wind


A man whose eyes spark hate

when you see him in the street

has surely striven against you

and remembers his defeat


I have three gifts from long ago

I can see what I don't yet know

I can hear what happened before

my foot travels across your door

I can distinguish rich and poor

I invoke this ancient lore

when I need to reach

beyond my yore

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