(from ISLANDMAN by Brendan Kennelly)
If the sea around me were to become
A sea of blood lapping the island
In an endless rhythm of accusation
I would understand.
So much has been murdered here,
Youth cut down in a moment,
Children...the old.
The story will never be told.
I think sometimes the sea knows it,
Crafty old hoarder of tales
And one day...one day...so burdened
With what it knows
The sea will rise
Changed to a sea of blood
And wash the island in a red rhythm of accusation
No one will remain untouched
By that rhythm,
It will enter the lives of all
Who have walked the land.
And we,
Witnesses, killers, reporters
May understand.
- eala liath
Cursed be the hand that splits the island
Making *they* and *we*,
Forcing bits of my own heart to drift off
Into the sea.
- B. Kennelly
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