A Burning Thread
The seagulls are crying
Swirling up the spray
Upon the ocean of my mind
Blown, by a breeze of yesterday.
Oh! the simple gentle thoughts
The loneliness of the prisoner
To see the golden mermaid of the rock
Yet, to be cut adrift from her.
The mind knows no doors
A burning candle in the night
To seek the green or grey of yesterday
Or the "if" the "wish" or "might."
In the tomb the darkest depths
The candle flickers dying
Death is slaying life unseen
While the seagulls are crying.
from Bobby Sands Writings from Prison Mercier Press 1998