Reflections of an Outcast.

My Seventh Candle finally blew out!
It flickered. gasped
and then gave up the ghost.

And now…
I wander as a mendicant,
Selling simple sentences,
To live.

Chimeras are my awning,
My canopy. A tent.
My words float like romantic wrecks,
Lost to the broken line,
That is my solitary quest.

My theories don’t have permanence.
They seep into the drains.
And on my long and blistered walks,
My thoughts are razored pain.

Sometimes relief does come my way.

Sometimes relief does come my way.
I’ll wake up in my starry room.
And plant some Scarlet Pimpernels….
Under an eggshell moon

Kristine Byrne Dec. 14th 2019