from Wanting To Be In The Old Tongue – by pd lyons

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Originally posted on Pdlyons's Weblog:

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