Blind Are Their Books by Jessica Ni Leacai

What would one care of said dormant despairs,
With notions nailed furiously in frozen stares.
Heads held suspending self serving wares,
Ornaments of ornate ideas implement scares.

Nonchalant nerves trip thoughts ensnared,
Forming a fleshed falant of eyeing impaired.
Minds made for matter emit efforts en-layered,
And all inner instincts now needlessly unawared .


This poem can be read on


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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