An Accentuated Beauty.

A Celtic woman with flowing red locks,
digs silently down by her thatched abode,
for a lost hand-me-down.

Discarded in a moment of
abject dejection,
born, we may freely surmise
without knowing the true reason,
out of betrayal, or some other form
of perceived loss,
from which, she imagined
that there was no escaping from.

Her heart overcome with
a blind bitterness regarding her fate,
she ridded herself of
whatever symbolized,
the painful remembrance of
what would now rule her future.

.

She sings a curse with passionate
frustration, which would,
to us, sound like an angel singing
pious devotions to God,
( I feel her words as such)
when she does not find
what she’s lost.

I have myself lost all familiarity with choice
a long time ago.

Perhaps they died (my hopes)
along with this poor Celtic womans hopes
of finding her precious object of desire.

They may be still burried thereabouts
where she sought them.

I would, if fancy were a friend of mine,
and if it had any power over the reality that I
have been made familiar with,
that the thing that she made song about,
and planted, in the green earth
with the indifference of wrath,
had taken on the nature of a seed
to sprout into the fresh air of the future
in which I now suffer the same curses
to which she was accustomed
in the form of a sweet voice,
one born of her family tree,
and having inherited all of the magic
of past times,
which are now like buried treasures
singing with ancient songs
pleading to be found
only asking to be heard
amongst the foreign accents
of her future family.

So now I find myself digging,
as she did,
although not amongst soil that I own,
but amongst the hearts and voices,
of the living,
which have been procured with lies
by a lier peddling the truth.

For what she lost,
was hope,
and I hope to find it,
and hand it back to her
without arms of flesh,
when I meet with my ancestors,
in purgatory,
where I am sure she still waits,
for I am the one who imparted
the knowledge of betrayal unto her
innocent soul.
for what was lost,
to be returned to her.

An Accentuated Beauty.

carboneye

Perth., Australia

  • Artist
    Notes
  • Artwork Comments 12

Artist's Description

A fantasy inspired by an accent, an Irish one, that made me feel as though when I was listening to it, I was hearing an ancient voice, that was speaking to me from the ages of times past, carrying with it, a life giving power.

Artwork Comments

  • evon ski
  • carboneye
  • evon ski
  • carboneye
  • evon ski
  • carboneye
  • JRGarland
  • carboneye
  • su2anne
  • carboneye
  • bgoddard
  • carboneye
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