Now it is , twenty one years gone past
Since the events , of eighty one
When we gained , ten more martyrs
But lost , ten cherished sons

The first we lost , was Bobby Sands
He volunteered , to take the lead
With great courage , and commitment
He carried out , his final deed

Second in line , was Francis Hughes
He didn’t hesitate , to join the fast
He perished , soon after Bobby
And sadly , would not be the last

Ray McCreesh , and Patsy O’Hara
Starved , from the very same day
And twenty one an’ a half hours apart
Were martyred , on the twenty first of May

Joe McDonnell , he was mortalized
In that touching , tribute song
He was a soldier , and a family man
Not a criminal , the brits were wrong

Martin Hurson , he was the next along
Great torture , he did endure
So for his bravery , we will not forget him
For that , we will make sure

From Dungiven , in North Derry
Was Kevin Lynch , a great sportsman
For justice , he gave up his own life
Something , not all men can

He who hungered the longest
And his fighting spirit , did typify
Was twenty five year old , Keiran Doherty
On his seventy third day , he did die

Last but one , was Thomas McElwee
He fought , for his peoples rights
And like , his brave companions
He refused , to give up the fight

Mickey Devine , from the Creggan
Was the last , of that famous ten
He died for the rights , of his comrades
Just like the other nine , brave men

From the death of Bobby , until Mickey’s
Was an enduring , hundred days plus seven
Their last days , being hard and lonely
But now UNITED , they rest in heaven

thanks to celtic IRA for this poem

THE RHYTHM OF TIME

There`s an inner thing in every man,
Do you know this thing my friend?
It has withstood the blows of a million years,
And will do so to the end.

It was born when time did not exist,
And it grew up out of life,
It cut down evil`s strangling vines,
Like a slashing searing knife.

It lit fires when fires were not,
And burnt the mind of man.
Tempering leadened hearts to steel,
From the time that time begen.

It wept by the waters of Babylon,
And when all men were a loss,
It screeched in writhing agony,
And it hung bleeding from the Cross.

It died in Rome by lion and sword,
And in defiant cruel array,
When the deathly word was`Spartacus`,
Along the Appian Way.

It marched with Wat the Tyler`s poor,
And frightened lord and king,
And it was emblazoned in their deathly stare,
As e`er a living thing.

It smiled in holy innocence,
Before conquistadors of old,
So meek and tame and unaware,
Of the deathly power of gold.

It burst forth through pitiful Paris streets,
And stormed the old Bastille,
And march upon the serpent`s head,
And crushed `neath its heel.

It died in blood on Buffalo Plains,
And starved by moons of rain,
Its heart was buried in Wounded Knee,
But it will come to rise again.

It screamed aloud by Kerry lakes,
As it was knelt upon the ground,
And it died in great defiance,
As they coldly shot it down.

It is found in every light of hope,
It knows no bounds nor space,
It has risen in red and black and white,
It is there in every race.

It lies in the hearts of heroes dead,
It screams in tyrants` eyes,
It has reached the peak of mountains high,
It comes searing` cross the skies.

It lights the dark of this prison cell,
It thunders fouth its might,
It is`the undauntable thought`, my friend,
That thought that says `i`m right!`

MARCELLA H-BLOCK,LONG KESH PRISON CAMP.