bottle-collected briste


if they knew…

the limbs torn from within

sinews ripped apart, dream after dream

bone after bone, flesh after flesh,

and never to join

never in care-

for care does not disappoint

and tenderness is a touching that lasts.

the tune goes on and on and on

from the strawberry angel taken from me

to the one that never saw it coming till too late-

you thought you had me played like a piano

each tear coming, as you ran your fingers down those keys-

you thought you had an ending for my song.

but no one knew

the king of Rejected,

the one Women disposed,

the one always hurt,

would wait for a word from beyond-

on the night air, beside the moon

at the back of the North Wind-

to come take these tears

bottle-collected briste:

these moments awake

year after year, night after night,

broken-glass brokenness

away!

Briste (Irish)- (BRISH-dee) Broken, (implying) Brokenness

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About thelostkerryman

Thelostkerryman is an author, and entrepreneur- this side of Tir Na N'Og- living in the forests of a consistently confused country. Here in this hill country, hurling doesn't usually involve a hurley, store-made soda bread resembles an inedible Irish megalith, and Kerrygold is only found hidden like a luck penny in the belly of Kroger. His blogs are an account of his adventures, thoughts, eclectic -and eccentric- ramblings, random or insightful poetry, humor and non-humor, pictures (photos), video, essays, fiction, poetic fiction, nonfiction, drama, and writing he has not classified in the description above. All of his posts from thelostkerryman.wordpress.com, talesinastrangerstrangerland@wordpress.com, everydayasadisciple@wordpress.com, and mrandmrsboring.wordpress.com are copywrited according to international copywrite law.
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2 Responses to bottle-collected briste

  1. gimpet says:

    I love that word, akin to triste (sadness). I will have to use it!

  2. Pingback: Priestly Serious | thelostkerryman

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