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A Virtue Lost and Lonely



How patience pr*cks my fingers of valued virtue,
When calmness would not keep my callousness,
Like the urgency of time ticking on my clock chiming,
And you said cats could not companion me here.

So hours slide, slippery through these timbers,
As moments meander in and out of damp doorways,
Lighting left to luminosity of the sun and skies above,
And no showered love sits soundly in these window sills.

This alchemist of aspirated affection adorns her crown,
Of lost virtue, vanity, verbosity in a fashion firmly found,
With tiers of no triumph made in recourse, all remedies rued,
Her inheritance, a throne tyrannically trammelled of what's accrued.
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Submitted on October 16, 2013

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Jessie Ní Leacaí Claim this poet

I'm an Irish speaker, Belfast based. I design hats and headpieces in the wonderful art of millinery. I enjoy science, culture,art, music and have an affinity with the sea. I use 'big words' so invest in a dictionary when reading my poetry. I tolerate no ignorance more…

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