Bridge of sorrows

A poem Inspired by a visit to the Bridge of Tears (or Bridge of Sorrows) In Donegal. This was the farewell point for the emigrants who journeyed over the hills to Derry, to board ships bound to the Americas during the famine years. Family members would accompany the emigrants this far, to this bridge, to say their goodbyes, knowing they would likely never see each other again. The journey was far and often deadly, on the ships that came to be called coffin ships.

The Bridge of Sorrows

These hills are as old as the sea

And they battle

All foam and froth and fury against

The land, rock hard and bog soft

Carved, scarred

Mother-of-pearl smooth

Haunted by footsteps

Washed by sorrow

A rivers of tears

Running into an ocean of grief

You can bathe in this sea

And set fire to the earth

But walk softly on this trail

And you’ll hear cries on the wind

Howling, bawling gales

That cripple trees

And keep low the curlews

So bow your head down

And keep your eyes on your steps

You are walking towards a new world

Across wounded ground

Of unmarked graves

And unremarkable lives

Blanketed with memories

Which scatter like the sand on the shore

Or the lilac petals of the heather on the hillsides