half heart

deathless sleep of angel’s womb,

i fly as fetus

searching every drifting dream

for a pulse unborn –

the cry

of the half heart.


(heaven’s tears caress,

a shower of diamond light,

burning away ugliness, melting years,

bathing every lie.)


i peal jacquards

of colour and time

to enter the vault;

truth to unlock all locks

and open the gate

where we began, before


before i was torn –

ripped suffering suckle,

immortal fruit’s desire, taken


to walk as they walk,

smearing history

with animal’s blood

upon canvas and mind


line upon line;

killing for poetry,

praying for art,

sacrificing the purest of the pure –

more than i knew,

more than i cried for



dying, because

they said so.

they said i must.

they, how be it,

said too much


but reaching, always

for the fading hand,

i descend open-eyed

beneath the darkness

of wave and sea.


sweet gentle lamb

where is my inspiration?

my altars, i swear, were of gold!

did i not slaughter you painlessly

under the shadow of law,

dissecting and eating the guts

of every letter?

putrid nourishment,

sustaining every plague

of mortal shame.


yet, anon, and ever and,

i breathe

the breath of her flame,

burning the cake of karma,

undressing the negligee,

and serpentine lace of lies

revealing the child,

and i remember and know

as i am known –

the reflection of her face

resting upon feathers.


she dreams my life

enduring the timeless quiver

of the half heart,

moaning under the lash

of each passionate stroke –

fatal caress of wincing flesh,

the final offering of time,

kneeling before the pendulum,

she follows my death

through countless cocoons,


into her womb,

once again.


once again,

i lie between shadow and light

tracing the jagged edge,

seared pitiful heart – half-self,

torn, never separated,

realizing with every cycle and refrain

earth’s delicate axis never to sustain.

such bliss a dangerous thing;

would end the fragile construct mortality,

shattering gold and hinging law –

falling as delirious playing cards

in slow motion

never to fly.



never to be written,

never to be recorded,

not by them,

not by the gatekeeper.

she waits the wait of zen,

beyond rust and stumbling saints;

a silhouette glowing

upon wavering prison drapes,

like an old film framing electric mist.

her dream is my vision

and tears are the food

of everlasting flight.

let it rain.

i eat every diamond.


dearest nightingale,

touch me with your feathers,

as torn hearts live to mend.


we walk not as they,

with footprints of fossil in clay

sinking deeper with every step,

but higher, above the begging tempest

upon water of light

through the mirrored gate,

we awaken from supposition

unto our eternal reflection,

one heart

one mind

one love.


About michael mcguirt

Finding myself in this version of me...........mm View all posts by michael mcguirt

2 responses to “half heart

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