The Day the Wolves Came by Jessica Ni Leacai

I on this hill of hatred, harming
myself for missions unfulfilled,
These culling chastisements, I
cast on my burdened back,
and my words wasted,no
worth nor use to you.

Expelled from ears, unwilling
for my merciless devices,
I am but wasted material, meaningless
garments no one would garnish.
Slowly they sear me in half, my soul
no longer my loyal saviour.

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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