Poem By Conúil Duffy
You, You and You. How the gift is given.
Most of them hate it at first (such damned fools) .
Some of them cry to stop, and damn themselves.
They don't know what they're throwing away,
but its gone. They can never have it back.
The chosen mix in with society.
They look, think and act like normal people.
Most people don't see them for what they are;
they don't realise the gift they have.
The chosen do. They breath it all the time.
The Chosen Ones have ranks too; just like us.
Even the worst of them still has the gift.
It comes in various forms,
but it is still no different to them
It is still the gift. It is still perfect.
When they young are selected they don't know
what they are receiving. I do know but.
I'm not young, but i want it. I need it.
No-one wil try to stop me having it
but i'm old now, and it is of less use.
I grasp it as best as i can can. I need it.
I ever never have what the chosen have,
but isn't something better than nothing?
I know of the great beauty of the gift
and until nigh; it will have to suffice.