The glaze, covering the window to the soul, the optical resolutution our view, to the world the open expression of the self.
The brine gathers filling the holes water over broken ice the surface obscure.
The facial collapse first flows escape trembling of lips broken down defenders.
The guttural sob pain given sound well of hurt, of sorrow overflows, the bowing head.
The hands move face receiving solace as the body collapses broken by release.
Dont, there is no need first response discomfort of the witness please don’t cry.
As the welling of pain convulses and true feeling explodes I squirm, I wish not to be here my futile outreach of reassurance.
Placing arm around the shaking shoulder droplets of bitterness fall to the table.
There is no need words released from stupid mouth empty phrases to sooth my own embarrassment
The crier, the wounded relieved by the expulsion we stand with stupidity our embarassed faces longing for the end we offer solution of paper and cloth to dry away the fluids wipe away the moment to feel the relief. - Ciaran Burke
The road rambles into the decline,
One way to go, nowhere else to be.
The fresh water hurries to meet the sand, to wash with it to the sea.
Golden stretch in stone green embrace beneath a blanket of grey,
Torn to reveal a flash of blue,
and a golden promise behind the hill.