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exiles
by Peter HumphreysMust
we
forever
meet, love,
down by
the darkling
road
exiles in
our own
world
refugees
from time
with
purple heather
for our bed
and bog white
cotton for
our pillow?
Must
we
for ever
part, love,
down on
the darkling
road
condemned
never
to live
the promise
that fills
our lives
the passion
in
our hearts
the deep fire
of
our spirits?
11/12/2006 Author's Note: This poem, and those that follow, set as they are along the “darkling road” are based upon a story of lovers exiled in their own place by a love which always had to remain secret in the Ireland of the 19th. Century. He was the son of a Catholic farmer and she the daughter of a Protestant minister. I was first told this story in 1972 by the late Mr. Rory Kilkenny of Poll a’tSomais.
Posted on 11/12/2006
Copyright © 2025 Peter Humphreys
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Doreen Cavazza on 05/03/11 at 09:17 PM Ah, the torture of needing to be near one at will but not being able. This brings about the emotions well when read. Considering the slight, natural pause at the end of the line, I found the form a bit awkward. I like the imagery this conjures. A sad tale. I like this. |
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