Frankie Quinn with a poem from his book Open Gates.

Reflection

Beneath a heavy patched quilt
Lay the body of a child, lifeless
As I lifted it the soul of morality ran
Dripped over the edge of my fingers
Turned into anger; smashed off a cold floor.
♞♜♝
Inside out it turned, stood up, walked
Into an unforgiving breeze that left a
Face without a smile,
Whose reflection couldn’t hold lips
Away from the sharp edge of shattered glass.
♞♜♝
Crows picked out the eyes of innocence,
Jabbed pointed beaks into blueness turning
Black like the caped, white-necked bastard
It widened into a gaping hole where contorted
Corpse became a person; without Emotion?

⏩ Frankie Quinn is a former republican prisoner who is now a community activist. He is the author of Open Gates, a book of poetry.   

Reflection

Frankie Quinn with a poem from his book Open Gates.

Reflection

Beneath a heavy patched quilt
Lay the body of a child, lifeless
As I lifted it the soul of morality ran
Dripped over the edge of my fingers
Turned into anger; smashed off a cold floor.
♞♜♝
Inside out it turned, stood up, walked
Into an unforgiving breeze that left a
Face without a smile,
Whose reflection couldn’t hold lips
Away from the sharp edge of shattered glass.
♞♜♝
Crows picked out the eyes of innocence,
Jabbed pointed beaks into blueness turning
Black like the caped, white-necked bastard
It widened into a gaping hole where contorted
Corpse became a person; without Emotion?

⏩ Frankie Quinn is a former republican prisoner who is now a community activist. He is the author of Open Gates, a book of poetry.   

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