What we fear, we create

slightly ashamed to admit that the title for this poem was overheard on a dr.phil show...
anyway, i have been reading quite a bit about the fairy faith and folklore in celtic countries so thats what kind of inspired this poem

I do not march to the beat of your words,

your dreams, in which there are no orange groves.

What is it you have to say for yourself?

What is it you have to show for yourself?

but two daffodil yellow chicks, necks wrung,

in your leather hands

oil covered

thick molasses

Beyond all sleep, you crawl into the night

Searching for the doe and the stag 

antlered with gold,


their tribal dance,


out their rage,


their glistening hooves

on ancestral soils.


with your muslin,

your brandished steel,

wandering one,

the cracks are crumbling,

the forgotten seeping through

You besieger, become the besieged.

The End

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