Ten of Swords

Sleepless night that never ends
Borrowed house filled with debt
Slow drip of poison from the IV
And the kitchen faucet and the
Computer news. Meaningless
Work that will not cease
Or no work at all clinging
To the abyss
Tyranny of old photo albums
College yearbooks
Love’s sweet burden that will not
Let you leave
Soul pierced through by golden
Hair and baby’s kisses
Lost heirlooms that remain hidden
No matter how deeply you search
Empty garden demanding springtime
Hopes, dark clouds overspread 
Heaven’s dome.
Prostrate and pierced and to what end
This approaching golden dawn?

Author: Duncan MacNae

Exiled Gael, scion of the Dust Bowl, dweller within Divine Grace, admirer of mountains, I have made my peace with trout and the starlings. Looking for a river and healing trees. duncanmacduncan5@gmail.com View all posts by Duncan MacNae