I miss the hand that used to hold my hand I miss the eyes that used to comfort me The needs of love don’t feel like a demand I miss the hand that caressed my held hand I miss your love and miss you as a friend. When you gazed , your eyes lit what you’d see. I miss the hand that used to warm my hand I miss the eyes that used to smile at me.
I miss your arms around me in the dark I miss the early morning, thoughts unspoke On Purbeck Hills; the Easter singing lark I miss your arms around me in the park Poole Harbour’s beauty is a living spark Sharing silent glances as we walked I miss your arms around me in the dark I miss the mornings, though we rarely spoke
Silent sharing ; company in love. With strangers, we must manufacture talk. To be silent ;the domed sky above To be silent ; spaciousness of love. With strangers, how their talk can jolt and shove I held your hand and stroked it when we walked Silent caring; symphony of love. Not strangers blindly snatching in the dark.
Hannah Arendt, an émigré from Nazi Germany.“The result of a consistent and total substitution of lies for factual truth,” Arendt wrote in her classic volume The Origins of Totalitarianism, “is not that the lie will now be accepted as truth and truth be defamed as a lie, but that the sense by which we take our bearings in the real world—and the category of truth versus falsehood is among the mental means to this end—is being destroyed.”
I remember you so well for those eight years The nights you sang love’s lullabies to me I was fearful of the footstep on the stairs
You held me as we paddled in the sea Maybe Blackpool,maybe Morecambe too You told me stories as I sat upon your knee I have some good memories, too few Where are all those days we played outdoors? Who knows if these memories are true? In East Lancs and in West Lancs rain will pour Once you wrapped me in your coat, but then Mam was angry when we reached the door
She told you, you were foolish for a man Why should men be wise, should anyone? That was when your illnesses began
You let me lie beside you in your bed I’d had my tonsils out and felt unwell I talked but don’t remember what you said I didn’t know the meaning of pure hell I guess I learned that when death you befell Come back,Daddy,missing you too well I’m still your little girl, your smiling belle
What woud happen here if Boris Johnston’s followers rioted,burst into Westminster ,some armed and five people died? I think he’d be in a police cell waiting for his trial Surely inciting people known to be unstable/crazy to do what these Americans did is also guilty of a crime- depriving someone of their life. What will happen in the next week?