MAEVE’S
LAMENT
Bound
by chains of lowland vines,
Nourished
only by the rain.
The
red meat of my heart
Now
chips and shards of stone
That
even ravens cannot find.
I
am most subtle now,
Unable
to touch or to be touched,
Only
smoky tendrils nimbly wrapped
Upon
the memories of men;
A
formless thing perceived by them
Only
in their sleeping dreams.
Kept
alive by hunger.
Eager
to be embraced with flesh
And
upon the bones of war - like men,
Answer
with firm metal once again
The
faithful ravens call.
Out
of the west
Out
of the west
Where
is the storm that brings me breath
To
let these lips of moss reveal
That
charm which causes me to heal -
For
when those birds recall my name,
Then
will I be whole again.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
from Wanting To Be In The Old Tongue
Copyright
© 2011 PD Lyons
All
rights reserved.
:
ISBN-13:
978-1466272996
ISBN-10:
1466272996
pdlyonspoet@yahoo.co.uk
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