Saturday, September 5, 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.



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.


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.