Sinead’s dalliances with capitalism and fame ..

light glances sharply off the wet cobbled lane
it is wet, dark and vaguely cold
like the hand of the soon departed

there must be a reason these words wander and
wonder are similar in sound yet not meaning
trapped as we are by consequence of reason not fact

history and circumstance should have more to say
but I can only write of torture for an hour each day
let rest dissolve stitches from a wound that will not heal

inside the eyes you saw the trauma the voice of Sinead’s pain
her face fragile as the mist upon the cliffs of Moher                                                       Irish lands left alone must now kiss repeatedly to reconcile

©edenbraytoday15.08.2023

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author’s note ~

this is my ongoing tribute to Sinead O’Connor, who I loved and whose heart and soul were damaged but whose voice was clear and ever triumphant – braver than I – braver than most!

edenbray 15.08.2023