Wednesday, March 14, 2007




was the spear shaft
spiked in my soft flesh
with anger and with fear
and I first heard the word

after were many spikes
Cranogs and fences,
ramparts and causeways
pinpricks that tore
perforated the completeness
of my soul
and many voices shouted

soon after
deep scars
gashes across the face of me
a million hands all grabbing
all tearing
all shouting

All using part of me
my sacred communion
throwing me like offal to pigs
drawing lines through my
all building boundaries
all enslaving me
all claiming me,

I contemplate
spinning out of orbit
into the ice-cold rind of space
into the red-heat of a burning sun
into the wasteland of eternity
and when their shouts have silenced
point at the endlessness of time
and tell them


©Geraldine Morrkens Byrne


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