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smokingbootIt is not for a lover I fall faint
against the green edged stones
and broken rails; but for the harpies
who bide, wings bent upon a long toothed moon
and sing. Ah let them sing, let them sing
the theatre tantrums of this patched up world.
With feathered hair quills tied together, so as
never to lose their kin; and all the time
they swoop to eat men’s cruelties,
still singing, sweetly singing.
Mindful I give my fingernails for play,
And in return they let me sleep
They tell each other of the lullaby
that soothes me, and they say
‘Do not disturb her slumber under clay.
For if she wakes, she breaks the world’s own dreaming
So let her sail the lost seas till the day
When love shatters the dark and gives it meaning.’
© Copyright and all rights reserved Debbie Gallagher 2014
against the green edged stones
and broken rails; but for the harpies
who bide, wings bent upon a long toothed moon
and sing. Ah let them sing, let them sing
the theatre tantrums of this patched up world.
With feathered hair quills tied together, so as
never to lose their kin; and all the time
they swoop to eat men’s cruelties,
still singing, sweetly singing.
Mindful I give my fingernails for play,
And in return they let me sleep
They tell each other of the lullaby
that soothes me, and they say
‘Do not disturb her slumber under clay.
For if she wakes, she breaks the world’s own dreaming
So let her sail the lost seas till the day
When love shatters the dark and gives it meaning.’
© Copyright and all rights reserved Debbie Gallagher 2014
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