MS (9th December Nineteen Fifty / Tiglin, Wicklow, Ireland)


He is sitting sullenly,
The pale night on his lap
Like a child, just dead.

Failure! I know not thy other names
Thou may be a heap
Of murky sky.

Who knows, in which part of the sky,
These pale dim infernos
Lie slumbering on!

User Rating: 2,6 / 5 ( 11 votes ) 8

Comments (8)

A painful truth in your poem is much enjoyable.
This is superb, Martin. There is so much pain lurking between the lines. I particularly like your last line. A fine example of 'less is more'. Love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
Succinct and to the point. Descriptive beyond portrait. Adeline
I agree with Fay totally, all the way to... an unforgettabable read. Thank you for sharing :)
So simple, such paucity of word, and all carefully chosen for the effect wanted. A sad and lonely statement... an unforgettable read.
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