Róisín Finnegan


Write Club

















Rose gold
Peaches growing in the light, or so it seemed
Rain fell without thought on me
I let it, imagining the rough wild curls only rain could bring
And I asked ‘Would you have me write forever?’
And there was no reply.

Weighed down, a godawful restless thing
Who cannot speak nor move nor be with any grace
Not a word written in days, only indulging in the art of repressing thought
I asked ‘Would you have me write forever?’
The quiet left bite marks, and burned.

Dragged like a sick child to a cure, towards paper again
I write some verse that will grow like ivy on the page until it’s hard to understand
I asked again ‘Would you have me write forever?’
They asked ‘Would you live forever?’
And I said ‘No’.

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