Poem

Desmond O'Brien

It is done now.
I have emptied the heart.

It came currenting
riddled my blood
sought passage outward.

It is finished now.
It dries in the candlelight.
It is not mine.

It has left me
with no claim
but the stain
of ink on my fingers,
and the coo of sleep
a lure in my mind.

 

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