Aine MacAodha Poetry & links

Losing shadows that follow

from these troubled acres

is hard going at times.

When it’s those same shadows

you seek to understand

what it all came down to.

Three in the morning brings relief;

nature is more calmer and cools

to a creaking lullaby.

Some birds sleep sound.

The urban ones

blether through the night.

The moon solemnly gives orders

to orchestrate the night crawlers

on missions. She casts shadows

in dimly lit corners of the globe.

She’ll never be the sun,

blitzing the crops, warming

the shadows.

But she’ll always be the catalyst,

calling you back to the past.

First published in Argotistonline.