Neath The Shandy And The Light
Away with your poetry and sing a song instead to me, make it real of love and lust, can you perform or turn to dust? Have you ever felt the spice, when the women you love, can turn and smite, and do you know of that great pain, will if you can, then write again.
Be ashamed and write you cried, or am I talking to a man beside, a man so tough he cannot cry, but can write of shite, behind words and hide.
Have you walked out in the streets and cried to strangers you have yet to meet, or are your rhymes just in your mind, you wish for love and wish for time’s, a women’s scorn is an awful dread, I kid you not, you wish for death. For once they hate you and say to go, go sing your song to Allen Poe.
Men are weak and women strong go see it written by poet or in song, they destroy when lust has gone, find the Spartans, and hear their lonesome song.
Women are great and you know its true; they get rid of a fool, a fool like you, you think you own them with your mighty thrust, but the jokes on you, is love like lust?
A women hold’s you through the night, it’s pure and simple like morning light, but do we hold that cherished orb, or do we abscond to a distant whore, she may be a drink, or a horse to bet, the nights great heat we scorn obsessed, no real man will ever heed these lines, for men are men and lost in time.
When a women say’s you are the one, she will hold you and you know it’s done, her beating heart for you alone, will defend your weakness, defend your home, but if you let that beating heart, be alone each night and after dark, she will conjure and she shall plan, you shall cry alone and not be a man, until in the pub and with your brothers, shall say, don’t worry you will find another, and herein lays the path of men, who cry to mothers, moving in again.
poem by Fergus Michael Condron
Added by Poetry Lover
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