On a harp, discorded

Locked in a throws of repetitive rapture 
I held tightly tenderly, exasperating inertia 
but sands flowed swiftly, time escaping 
leaving you as a memory, no more to requite 

Grams of your essence lingering, these particles 
of permanence playing on consciousness 
like strangers dancing in hallways of madness 
weaving in and out of nuances, a discord in tune 

A folly, a gesture, an undisclosed action 
reeling through the strings of a harpiscord 
out of sync yet struck as if chiming was sufficient, 
the harpist a slave to it’s instrument, denied joy in orchestration 

But how your eyes deny these implications 
Your hands would calmly conduct the bow of beauty 
plucking away painfully placed fibres of my existence 
 And I left on the floor, in ribbons, waiting to be reformed 

This poem can also be found on http://www.poetry.com/poems/48569


About jessienileacai

Irish speaker and artist. I love music, art, languages,literature, history, travel, photography, and comedy. I love Ireland, my heritage, the old ways and the beauty and people of this small island and its surrounding tiny islands
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