Writing Poetry

Old fumbled feelings

remain coiled with vicious potentiality

in the dark cave that is my mind

unsatiated, unresolved.

thoughts are cast aside

like tide-worried stones,

rounded from comings and goings

with relentless polishing of everything between.

words-like beached bones

remain as runes of mind, and

I continue to send out the invitations

to those words who have been uneasy bed companions

elsewhere

‘Come sit together at my wedding feast’.

Seating arrangements are difficult,

and rarely final.

©Copyright Niall OConnor