My eyes rove the terrain
of you, my home country
discovered when the world was new
and we celebrated our founding
I cannot look at your hands
without feeling them on my skin,
a violin played by a master
pulling notes from the void
I breathe your scent
and think of orchids,
I hold your hands
knowing the souls of roots
That was then, this is now,
in the evening of our days,
I kiss your neck, the taste
of tricyclics in your sweat
And your eyes, blankness
on and off like a switch,
Ghosts in the mirror
pleading for your return.
04 August 2010
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Wonderful ... moody .. touching .. sad.
ReplyDeleteSo I hope you don't think I was being harsh...honestly, that possibly over the top comment was in fun. Chopped liver indeed!
ReplyDeleteBut on to the topic at hand. The yearning in these stanzas. Makes me feel it too.
well done.
ReplyDeletewell done, indeed.
interesting,i would never try to write such good prose.
ReplyDeleteThe ending was a jolt. I've been thinking of such things lately. Beautiful, bittersweet piece.
ReplyDeletedamn, boy
ReplyDeletethis is fine...
tried to be a little more poetic with my response
but, sometimes, you just gotta go with your gut :)
you killed with this one, bro.
Rene
I'm always impressed, and I don't even like poetry.
ReplyDeleteOh yeah. Light the candles. :-)
ReplyDeleteFantastic piece Irish...
ReplyDeleteSad stuff filled with longing.
ReplyDelete