Monday, 16 January 2017

A poem by Patricia Walsh

Razor Wire


You cut yourself on a path to freedom
gouging a desire, a nature discerning
through a glass brightly, a revelation sure.

Beautiful creatures cut you to the quick
the dead carve memorabilia on your able skin,
powdered initiatives sucking dryness bare.

Cat bell on my wrist, no impending danger
necessitates the sound of a caged cat's wiles.
An antichrist's calling, a damned's response.

Climbing over illicit walls, wires to be cut
could you walk for miles and miles and miles
after various incisions, bleeding from tenacity.

You make your escape, ragged though it is.
Paths to freedom wet from endurance
immaterial, for the last time, now defunct.

Relationship status, disappeared
once over the edge, you are gone for dust,
hitting the ground stumbling, speaking mania.

An open coffin eats at your speed
at which your escape is found wanting
flourishing in headstones, a triumph remembered.

No funeral can cull you, no burial discern
a cartoon existence suiting you fine
a remembrance of a kind, a suture redeemed.








Patricia Walsh was born in Burn Fort in 1976. Previously she has published a collection of poetry, titled Continuity Errors, in 2010, and has since been published in a number of journals across Ireland, the UK, and the US.

No comments:

Post a Comment