Saturday 5 September 2009

The Hidden Jester

Hidden Jester

Grief comes,
in glancing blows
stealing up at tangents -
shards of promise, taut with loss,
might have been, should have been.
Nothing direct or clean;
but sharp cuts and sudden hurts
from shadowed corners.

Strange friend,
thief, despoiler
relying on one saving grace,
one charity of memory, doled out.
Taking more than giving;
a parasite of living;
poisonous flower, spreading
like a weed.

Hidden Jester
laying small traps
that catch you unawares -
the detritus of life, turned enemy
banal weapons that shard the heart
and once you start
you cannot stem the flow
and he has won.

1.
2.

6 comments:

Ancestral Celt said...

It's hard to describe how these words made me feel: sad, angry and upset don't cover it.

It is a good piece of work though.

Geraldine Moorkens Byrne said...

Sadly straight from the heart - I am glad it spoke to you.

Diane C said...

That's an incredible poem. I can't even say I like it - it almost upset me - but I love it.

Anonymous said...

"and he has won" . . . no, not yet he hasn't, not while I've breath my love.

Salty

Anonymous said...

thought this could be about a miscarriage- i'v sent a friend who's lost a child this link. She says its exactly it Thanks
Ciara Whealan

Geraldine Moorkens Byrne said...

Ciara I am glad it spoke to you, and to your friend.
GMB