Clan Clash
Clan clashThis rugged isle
is pockmarked
by deadly memories
of battles, strife and bloody war
between brothers all
the clamour of claymore
the brunt of the broadsword
the thrust of dagger through tartan cloth
the brotherhood of blood-feud
unceasing and unreasonable
and immensely sad
I cannot help
but think
that had the cainite drive
to better oneself,
by the removal of competition
rather than approving oneself
by doing the right,
been quelled at the source
and never allowed air to breathe
even for a moment
Then the clans
of the Islands and Highlands
would have linked
and forged a chain of faith
and mutual support
against which no army
in the world
had ever dared to raise its
foreign banner
The history of Scotland
is but the sad post mortem
of Abel's death at the hand of Cain
and the mark on every forehead
turned into a tartan cloth,
merely a noble set of bier-coverings
No wonder that the pipes
are at their best
when playing a lament,
the chanters droning out
the sadness of what could have been
but never was
Poetry by Teddy Donobauer
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Written on 2007-09-28 at 18:02
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