Honour Our Dead

Cormac Ryan with a poem summing up his feelings on the eve of Easter Sunday.

Oh wise men riddle me this...

The nightmare came true instead.

I don't wear Poppies and I don't wear Lillies,

Fuck the seedy narratives of party or state.

Was it for this? This [abomi]nation?

On this bright Easter morn, my heart is filled with sorrow 

Thinking of those that died, for "a better tomorrow"

(and crying for their mothers)

Wearing the uniform of whatever vision or nation

Not chest puffing-out, event-junkyism, or symbol fetishization

This grubby gombeen cesspool wasn't worth a single drop of blood

Irish or Brit

The workers and sufferers are still left down in the shit.

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