Poem: Like a Coastal Shelf

Knives as long as memory
And just as sinful sharp.
We kill our dreams
And waste our lives
Longing for them back.
The blood is dark upon our hands
And gnaws upon our soul.
Our fitful dreams
And fevered days
Remind us what we lack.
Until at last we find a hole
And hide there with a mate.
Strip a child of their dreams
And give them ours instead:
Reassembled memories with glue upon the cracks.

Poem: Caoineadh

The earth cries out beneath your feet,
It weeps to see you pass.
And while I wandered in the street,
You danced upon the grass.

I heard your laughter in the air,
It burned my soul like fire.
The sunset shone upon your hair
Like blood upon the lyre.

You passed on into shadowlands,
And left behind your light.
I wrung my crimsoned hands
For I lost you in the night.