Green, White, Orange

Author's Note: the landscape of Ireland is littered with ruins of ancient churches, cathedrals, and monasteries.  Almost every village I saw had some.  Most are remnants of a campaign in the 16oo's led by Oliver Cromwell to burn every church in Ireland, dispose all catholics from their land, and kill those who opposed him.  Now they provide a quaint backdrop to a peaceful Ireland.  The Irish flag in green (catholic), white (peace), and orange (protestant).  My poem opens with these colors.
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In open grassy field
starke church ruins
jut into sun-setting skies.

Remnants of soulful sorrows
reminding of
how loud the crying,
how hushed the secrets,
in closed circles;
egregious acts and angry words
that confused the way.
So became the great Riff.

Now friendship and honor unite,
precious mortar healing the cracks;
sweet smells of jasmine and wild rose
among the ivy covered relics.

By consensus of those who now agree,
an acceptance of a painful history;
as intertwined as the vines
on this empty stone façade.

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Note: this poem is part of a collection, to read more please see:  "Ireland "  E: Barúlacha Fileata~poetic observations~poems inspired by my trip to my ancestoral home   Sláinte!