Member-only story
Lough Gur in the gloaming
faith, and trust, and fairie dust
The moon was sad as only the moon can be
men in tears sought to flee the nightmare of their lives
dreaming that with fingers we can pluck
the calmness of flowers, the depths of moments,
the completeness of a live birth.
Now only white sobs slide into our eyes
the smile of a mother, a lover,
on the fortunate day of our first kiss
the past is a magnet,
drunk, with all the heady scents of sadness
ingrained within the DNA of the everyday.
Gathering dreams is the heart of the matter
eyes riveted on a stranger’s eyes
the mouth moves but I hear nothing
see her eyes blaze;
in the street she is neat, complete
she remains the mistress of horology
and in the evening time, she skips the light fantastic.
On the lawn, I see a fairie cry bitter-bitter tears
for the beautiful sleep-spoiled child she had once been,
she kept her eyes tightly closed and saw only
snow white bunches of fragrant stars
afar, they sang. alone, in faery rings.
