MUSING THE WOUND

.

ACCUSED

.

I stepped on glass
In the domestic setting
Of a familiar boudoir
And felt the grating
Rasp of jagged shard
Against my skin
Until the crimson stream
Oozed from the pin prick wound.

.

Listen to the primal sound
The drumming of blood flow
Synchronised rhythm of life
Pulsing a rock beat
An anthem to die for
Someday.

.

Later to percolating coffee
Twin angels
From Timoleague and Schull
Divine reminders
Of the winding freedom
Of West Cork
And the healing
In the glance
Of radiance.

.

I bleed no more
Wound tide stemmed
Cleaned and balmed
I take my first step
Carefully
Towards complete
Redemption.

.

Gerard O'Shea