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Quiescence
Dark clay breeds seeds of discontent,
Broken cries fills eyes of swollen red,
The field of dreams beyond my reach,
My world of words the elected dead.
It's time to unwalk this clouded dream,
The rich clay within has taken flight,
As tears of tasted blood drain the heart,
To purge the earth and source the light.
Fallowed fields wait the dawn to start,
To cultivate the soil, to nurture seed,
Deep within our Mother Nature's heart,
And nourish the clays quiescent needs.
Go raibh mi agat agus slán go fóill.
Happy Saint Patrick's Day .
Copyright ©
Daniel Caplin
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