Beidh mé i gcónaí teacht ar ais arís.

Mé am philéar cloiche snoite ag an ghaoth.
Agam briste an oighear ar an fharraige reoite.
Tá nós do focail le scian do mo spiorad.
Gearrtha siad trí agus a chur amach mo súil.
Anois dall go leat, beidh mé i bhfad sruth.
Beidh mé i gcónaí teacht ar ais arís.

I am a stone pillar carved by the wind.
I have broken the ice on the frozen sea.
Your words are a knife to my spirit.
They cut through and take away my hope.
Now blind to you, I will drift far.
I will always come back again.

Lily, Chrysanthemum, Rose

The edges are soft and the shadows gone,
Pure light capturing the essence of beauty,
Flaxen hair cascading down delicate shoulders,
Embracing unconfined glory.

Lily, chrysanthemum, rose,
Picket on the ivy hedged wall,
A scene with a spirit enclosed.

The cherry petals fall in spiraling whorls,
Dashed down with innocent laughter,
A book forgotten on a stone bench,
For a muse of a painter enthralled.

Lily, chrysanthemum, rose,
Guardians of the narrow gateway,
Neglecting their duties in the shade.

The laughter stops to the crack,
A gun in hand, a husband stands confused,
To shouts and cries of beauty swept away,
Of an artist and wife lost to misplaced jealousy.

Lily, chrysanthemum, rose,
Pall bearers walking in stoic silence,
The edges turned hard and shadows dark.

Zachary’s Lament for Jane

Where are you my love?
Where is your sweet voice,
The smell of jasmine, laughter, and the tinkling of bells?

You have stood by my side,
feeling but untouchable,
warming my heart in a world gone cold.

Where are you my sweet?
What have I done?
Kept from the golden gate, afraid, sharing each other?

You were taken in your youth,
Broken by a brute,
And left to dwell with me in my living purgatory.

Where are you my dear?
Where have you gone,
A ghost of yesterday, haunting, yet so alive?

You have fallen into the abyss,
Descended into the depths of forever,
And become an eternal memory.

I will always love you.
I will never forget.
The smell of jasmine, laughter, and the tinkling of bells.

Pretence

Sunlight on a dappled pony’s flank,
In brilliant meadow running fast and free.
Mother waits with cookies on a plate,
As the boy pretends that he can’t see.

Breezes blow across the grassy plain,
A girl in cotton dancing under sky.
Mother reads within her sitting room,
As the boy pretends that he can fly.

Scattered shadows dance beneath the pine,
A rascal fallen from the highest limb.
Mother sits beside his to bed to cry,
As the boy pretends in lands of whim.

Snow white blooms assault the summer’s wind,
A girl in sorrow standing by in fear.
Mother sobs beside the quiet grave,
As the boy pretends that he can’t hear.

Ripples on a pond not far away,
Coy swimming as they beg for fallen bread.
Mother sits upon the rocking chair,
As the boy pretends that he’s not dead.