Maelstrom

 

my gift to you

was wrapped so slow

years in the making

with worry and woe

 

sit it on your night table

close to your head

watch it through the dark

through the sleep you so dread

 

and at four and twenty
as the stillness spirals down

when you ghost into gloom

and your spirits numbly drown

 

open it gently, softly,

quietly, and with care

then feel the bitter cold emptiness

and bleakly join me there

Eamonn O’Hanlon