Poetry from a non-Poet

Photo Credit – Sonja und Jens
Recently, I came across boxes of my old writings. Many of my old stories were on floppy disks (whew, I’m dating myself here.) Some stories were stored away for good reason (so angsty!) and others are surprising diamonds-in-the-rough in need of a bit of editing.
I by no means consider myself a poet and have the utmost respect for those that are masters of the poetry medium. But this Erin-poem stood out to me more than most, as I believe I remember the day I wrote it, and my state of mind that day, and the thoughts that quietly lingered there.
    Traveled through the shafts of time
Product of a sleeping mind
Crosses jumbled all together
Faint songs of dancing heather
Shadows on a mountain
Wishes on a fountain
Souls in the sun
Bodies overdone
Firelight the light beyond
Deepest tears the dream is gone.
Every grain of grain of wood
Every story the farmer’s should
Blood and clots and opening eyes
Dancing under dark, dark skies
Graves on a hill
Canes on the sill
Neighbor’s friendly cards
Love’s cruelest shards
Wings to fly
Pen’s all dry.
Light on a summer day
Rain’s inevitable decay
Secrets gone wrong
Hair too long
Child tree of far ago
Stillness on a merry-go
Quiet, quiet see the light

Of a newborn spirit’s flight.

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