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Open House: the first
“My sister, flesh of my flesh Is returning. Yanked back at the end of herchain like the well trained dog she is. Snarling, and yapping at the hand that fed her.”
I hear darkness and smell rain. No ritual of disbelief will stave off The sudden remembrance of you, The turning of a thousand atoms In shared blood.
I hold some small piece of you And the view engulfs me. No Fever could burn as this. I am consumed and lost In the same spasm.
I left hatred behind, burned Out of my bones, Along with romance and illusion But fused in the ashes Are the last words of your letter.
Will I disappoint you; Is the memory of me brighter than I deserve? I count days and squander hours in Pointless reminiscence; carried on in honour Of your return. Sharpening weapons I will never use.
My house is your house; I will have to resort to hospitality In the end. I cannot withstand them, And must concede defeat in the eyes of the world. I cannot slam that last door. I must stand in welcome.
I would choke on the bile of my hypocrisy. I would rend that flesh, my flesh, down to the shared marrow of our bones rip aside the decencies and shred the manners of our generation, until I emptied my house of you.
Open House/Blood Fetters: The second
Sly slipstream of half thought sweetened by revengeful dreams- almost, nearly, just about. Under siege in the open house.
Haiku of such barbed proportion should be tattooed on the wall; call the hounds of war and weave Havoc from distorted laws.
Hatreds old and new resumed blood-ties buried like the axe Toll the knell and seal the mouth; night is fallen on the open house.
Geraldine Moorkens Byrne
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Comments about this poem (Open House/Blood Fetters
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Geraldine Moorkens Byrne
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Geraldine Moorkens Byrne
(6/26/2008 10:42:00 AM) |
the third and final part is http: //poemhunter.com/poem/blood-fetters-history-erased/
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