The Highland pipes know it well,
that ache of the heart
and of the pain upon the soul.
History has been brutal,
stained pages of blood.
The loss and grief of loved ones;
Friends, brothers, sisters,
lovers, wives, fathers and mothers.
Noble deeds are recorded for some.
A small token memorises, to commemorate,
the valiant and the vain.
Lost love has little to remember it,
save the lilt of the pipes.
Haunting melodies carry far.
My own soul drawn by the lyric tune,
Searches through day and night.
Seeking sweet memories,
a reflection of events,
focusing on the most significant,
the most important.
Love is a requirement,
to save and store,
the depth of reality,
To make sense of one's own senses.
It is the bond that makes humanity
the reason to share empathy and compassion.
The key to the heart lies in the mind.
It is formed by the sights,
the smells, the sounds, the taste
and the touch of individuality.
Shall I wait and listen
for the end of the dirge,
that pulls me from complacency,
to awaken and make me more?
Will George © April 2016