There are no quiet places
For the tortured spirit.
There is the promise of tomorrow.
There is the font of faith.
But there are no quiet places
To escape
The savagery of the jagged nerve,
The open sore of vulnerability.
***
The world has left me mangled,
Its suffering mine.
But my suffering is not the world’s.
It is a minutia, and negligible.
I am embarrassed by it.
I seek the quiet places.
They lie in nature, but not in me.
I find nature
But have lost me.
Too painful to touch, too complex to discern.
***
And so I seek the purgative
To absolve me of today,
The curative to rescue my tomorrow,
The healing balm.
And find in you the promise
Of a resurrected spirit,
Of a quiet place,
Of the peace of God.
I have but tears to give you in return.
About the Creator
Marie McGrath
Things that have saved me:
Animals
Music
Sense of Humor
Writing
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Love Letters Through Time
Context: Grace (Gráinne) Gifford, was a participant in the Irish nationalist struggle against British rule, which led to ‘The Easter Rising’, Easter Monday, 1916 in Dublin, Ireland. She was betrothed to one of the leaders, who were due to be executed the morning after being taken prisoner. Joseph and Grace were married the night before in his prison cell. Joseph (Seosamh Pluinceid)) was one of the leaders of The Rising, a signatory of the Irish Proclamation and, in death, a revered Irish hero. These are my imaginings of ‘her’ final words to him. I include a few words in Irish Gaelic as the movement that led to the rebellion favored speaking Irish, instead of English. I would wager a guess, as they were both poets and writers in the Irish republican movement that she would have chosen to marry her love of country with her love of him in expressing her devotion.
By Marie McGrathExclusive • 11 months ago
What the Night Remembers — Uncovering secrets buried by daylight
The lamp on Marcus's nightstand has been on for three hours. It's 11:47 PM, and he hasn't moved from the bed. The envelope sits on the dresser across the room, Sarah's handwriting still crisp on the front: Read this when you're ready. Not before. She'd left it six months ago, back when leaving still felt impossible. Back when they were still negotiating the geometry of their collapse.
By Anie Liban4 days ago in Poets
Comments (3)
lovely poem- the humbleness of one's life in nature - and oneself a tiny part of the world that is just a part of nature - that can heal and resurrect . You expressed so much so well... bravo
Seeking solace and finding it in another person resonates deeply, while the vulnerability expressed adds an authentic and human touch.
Heyo✨ Let's do a teamwork I like your stories and you gonna like mine 🫶🏻♥️