Martina Moriarty (15/04/1964 / Kerry)
The old house had been locked up for years?
So she entered the den of a dying woman's dream
The sitting room was overcrowded with big wardrobes and oversized dressers
The bedroom door was to the left-
that's where she passed away...
the suited stranger said as he pointed to the door.
I don't want to go in there she thought
as she was busy opening the drawer of the big old dresser.
A christmas tree glitter ball...was all she was to find
she remembered thinking how beautiful and magical it must be!
'all on its own'
and the suited stranger said it was left to her
from the old lady that had died.
Years later with only a walk in mind...
she found herself outside the same bedroom door! !
without the suited stranger? ...
she remembered thinking here goes, as she opened the door with excitement!
she entered...and in one moment of movement
she saw hell in the flesh of a tearful minds eye.
Sorrow at its most fragile
Fear at its most powerful...Bound and silent without light! !
searching the darkness from a begging orphans plea-full cry.
Through your eyes! ! !
The book is never written until the
Tragic hero? -
gets her wounded soul back
I am all for one!
And one for all...
I have been to the bottom of the forbidden sea
I have travelled the cloud train of hope with...
I have sheltered in the forest of time!
I have seen what goes on down below?
I have also found my reason for living...
I found you! ! !
Where few never tread-
My heart drove me to you? ... in shoes made of lead!
So if ever a wish! !
I wish you tonight...
whatever the outcome of morn's blissful tide
the future is here in the kindest of eyes...
all part of the pages once tearful and cold
Now carved in an alter, of a heart shaped in stone.
Comments about this poem (Chapter thirteen by Martina Moriarty )
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