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 Jan 2016 Joseph Paris
Jude kyrie
troilet
by Roland Leighton
1895 ... December.1915

There's a sob on the sea

*There's a sob on the sea
And the Old Year is dying.
Borne on night wings to me
There's a sob on the sea,
And for what could not be
The great world-heart is sighing.
There's a sob on the sea
And the Old Year is dying.
Roland was born in 1895, the son of Robert Leighton, a writer of boys' adventure stories, and Marie Connor Leighton, a prolific romance novelist.

Roland Aubrey Leighton on a scholarship to Oxford in 1914
Roland Aubrey Leighton on a scholarship to Oxford in 1914
For more information: http://www.oucs.ox.ac.uk/ww1lit/collections/leighton
He studied at Uppington School, where he met Edward Brittain and in 1913, age 19 he began 'courting' Edward's sister, Vera.

Instead of proceeding with his studies, Roland immediately volunteered for service and soon found himself in France. He and Vera became engaged on leave in August of the same year. From France Roland wrote Vera numerous letters discussing British society, the war, the purpose of scholarship and aesthetics, as well as their relationship, which she preserved in her diaries and later writings. Within his correspondence he also sent a limited number of poems.

On 23rd December 1915 Roland died of wounds in the Casualty Clearing Station at Louvencourt, France, having been shot through the stomach by a ****** while inspecting wire in the trenches at Hébuterne. He was 20 years ol
 Dec 2015 Joseph Paris
Ellie Wolf
-
 Dec 2015 Joseph Paris
Ellie Wolf
-
I’m writing
Because I didn’t write yesterday
And I went to sleep
At 5 in the morning
When the sun was waking
And the world was breaking
In front of my
Eyes
 Dec 2015 Joseph Paris
Wanderer
The day it is a waning
Long streams of soft blue, deep violet
Ozone veins carrying the wakeful into sleep
I peak now
Eyes bright with moonlight
Stars dancing brilliantly against ink black anti-matter pools
I would go out drifting tenderly amongst those memories
Even if their edges tear apart from gravity
The knowing would suffice
Come dream with me 3am wanderers
Let the cushion of the unseen comfort
Sore spots that we no longer urge to heal
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