Wednesday, March 30, 2011


Image courtesy of Angela Jayne Barnett

With a shiver she reads what she has written
The page of scribbled words reflect the stranger within
Lies upon lies told only to herself

The empty vessel
painful like a parched throat
gasping for truth

Brigid's flame surrounds
all consuming
burning the residue

Her heart
now empty; like the rest of her

To move forward and fill the chalice
The cold iron water of the Red Spring
Splashing cool, bringing moisture to the arid cells
of Her body

What is more painful?
The ache of emptiness
Or the fear of filling the cup?

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