Crossing
Paralysed, struck flat on my back
Irish sea sprays up a malady
leaches through impervious skin
And drifts my reliant apathy
Slow boat rocks, judders beneath
Bearing to shadowed grey land
Clouds reach down tentatively
Brushing the back of my hand
Far away, two children mourn
Loss of a mother who slips
Away with waves to another love
Another time, where they don’t exist
Turning my head, gazing out
I plead to the hills to embrace
forgive what I have already done
And I trust in this coffin of fate
© Katy Hughes 2012
Harry O'Neill
Mon 15th Oct 2012 21:58
A poem of open - eyed self criticism...I`d almost thought of regret, except that the very last line gainsays what the other three lines of that stanza say.
It`s a troubled poem.