Death had come to visit
Like a summer strange dream that lingered too long.
Spring was forbidden.
The castle gates tall and austere
Were slowly and creakily closed
Glimpsing into the outside garrets
For invisible voyeurs whose thrill had gone,
Closing the sky that is remembered joy only
Fading, fading as I am unsure of the knowledge of locking the door….
Freedom is a secret known only to the old lady of the land
She teaches me in the night
How to run through dark fields
After the fox
She runs swift and I envy her breathing
Her energy, her power, wild and frightened…
I can’t keep up.
All I can do well is put my arm around her.
Her faded bruises of time all feel my care.
‘The Dead can see the Dead’ whispers the night
Yesterday’s wild children are understood and gone.
The castle door is an upright tomb.
Love is a patient servant.
The fox runs free…..
Martina McAteer is an Irish writer and painter. She has recently been selected for Poethead index of women writers. She sees herself as a kitchen sink mystic! and calls all her creative work 'a secret language of the heart'. Her poems have a unique enigmatic quality to them fused with dreamlike imagery and glimpses of visions out of the corner of her eye! She often feels she has attained nothing in her work without reaching that epiphany moment, that eureka feeling and is less concerned with method and form than attaining this quality in a work.