• Vol. 10
  • Chapter 12
Image by

When it is Time

Hinged freedom
Beset with the day
Which ladens the load
Swaying so precariously off kilt
Struggling to set to tare

Skies weighted in promise
Tattoed in sickly sighs of
Carpe diem
Which we'd rip from the mantelpiece,
we never owned
forever owing rent for

Dusting the meadows
From the mountains,  
Screaming of love so free
That the past would fade
Under running feet
Aged yet nimble in liberty,
Dancing and flattening

Emerald swatches
Of shamrocks we'd box to rot
Because we won't need any luck
Nor roads or cliched paths
For we are still
Here – at one.