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Sometimes blue - oppressing, coercing dreams.
Or red - threatening, cautioning tales.
Often amber - dubious, ambiguous notions.
Or grey - obscured, absent, oblivion.

Never green - calling, coaxing, purpose,
Peace of heart, peace of mind,
A piece of Something that feels like Mine,

instead -
the constant struggle of my life, the door of the future stands in front of me, changing every time i blink, someday it will open but for now -
I open my door - to the brisk December air,
Each breath as Fresh as the mornings First -
Through my Frosted airways -
A Winter Cloud exhaled.
Stop thinking.
The thought of you is poison to my Love.
my real Love.
You are but a thought - a what if lingering on the tip of my tongue,
there is no use wasting thoughts on what if’s.
Nothing good will come of it
Nothing good will come of us - there is no us.

Stop thinking
You are a virus, a fading voice, a fading joke, a fading laugh
that’s all we had.
Nothing more - but not nothing,
unspoken, unheard.
Yet, I saw It in your eyes
and I saw It reflecting in mine.
Stop thinking.
I love to place myself in the mind of a character I’ve watched or read about and write from their perspective.
A lament don Ghaeilge

A language
in my Blood
but not - on my tongue.

The prose and poetry of my ancestors
fallen - on deaf ears.

When did we accept this anglicized assonance,
to marr the seanchaithe tale of soil and air?

The Land of Saints and Scholars -
speaking words from others tongues.
I never fully understood the meaning of the  word “mourn” until this year -
To truly feel the loss of another concentrated in its purest form.

I never believed when others would say
“I miss you more, in  each and every day” or
“There’s not an hour goes by, without a thought of you on my mind”
As if Loss is an unforgotten constant in the trails of the trivial,
We are only human after all.

But I was naive, through and through.
Loss never leaves your side once you meet
Loss is a friend for life.
The kind that shows their face in the most unpredictable moments,
Who never fades away or falls out,
Becoming more aquatinted as we go through life.

Loss is selfish, wanting our undivided attention,
Expecting us to indulge in its deep dark thoughts with strong pretension.

Loss is harsh, not hiding nor sugarcoating any enemy attack,
Facing us with the reality of control and just how much we lack.

Loss is bitter, Loss is unkind
Loss is a thief, stealing our piece of mind.

Loss is jealous, Loss is sly.
Is it absent of Love,
Or has Love left it’s side?
When I dance with you,
I am at Peace.

When your hand rests -
in the arch of my back
and mine -
on the curve of your shoulder -

I drift away.

in the slow steps,
following your feet -
along the melody,
syncing with beat.
Closer, I pull you
Closer into me,
while you whisper quietly,
the words I need to breathe.
She takes the stand
With the voice of millions on her back
And speaks the fact that we all know,
far too well to be true -                  
                                           Me too.

She is heard but not believed,
She is heard with faith deceived .

When will it be enough -
Is one in six not enough ?
Is one sister, one friend
still - not enough?

one colleague, one mother, one wife, one lover -
one teacher, one doctor, one preacher, one author -
one husband, one son, one brother.
Which one will it take, to stop
the non-consensual clock
and make us realise that -

Time. Is. Up.
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