Saturday, 18 March 2017

To Leave, To Live | A Poem



In winter, my heart was warmer
In spring, bloodlines trickle down
To write a name so crisp and clear
Quite easily, faltering
Repeatedly

Now is the time
To change with the season,
To be honest in nature,
To put the lights back in my 
Eyes again -

Scaltarín*,
You cannot
Shelve yourself for
The year,
Far worse things happen
Across our raging seas.

If you leave your window open
You may hear my feet 
Dancing in the garden,
To dance away
A sense of finality
I am all too familiar with.

Sincere in strength,
True in intention,
A smile that
Could rip the tide apart.

Say my name and
Let it fall over the dusty myrtle
River,
There will be a smell of rain
To send me away and
I’ll sing all along a 
Pebbled path to
A new ballroom

About promises that hung
On copper wires,
Bending over every
Which way,
Calls me now to consider;
Did you ever love, son?

Dearest scaltarín,
Arrows fall short and
Lanterns furtively
Get lost in their
Flight,

A ruby glow is shadowed
At night when we leave.
It will make its way to 
Another home,
Unknown to us.

If it is to be the will
Of a future
Closing day,
It may be found on a 
Mountain top,
Sitting beside a blue ribbon
Tied to a branch of a hawthorn tree
That we once planted
In our 
Sleep.


*Scaltarín (scawl-tar-een)
Meaning a small bird in Irish
(A variation of the word you won't typically find in a dictionary. How convenient.)