Frankie Quinn with a poem from his expansive body of work.
Altar
So many memories on the doorstep of time
Do they belong to everyone, or just mine?
All the feet that have walked over his spine
Did they consider him as they honour a shrine.
♞♜♝
Over the years children have hidden their fears
Of the dark, it doesn’t bark but bites with teeth
That hold tight as a lock, in his hanging black frock.
♞♜♝
Inside hides the boy in a dock, drowning from breath
On his face so close he can taste, spit in his tears
They walk on a cross hung on his neck don’t look back.
♞♜♝
It will take you away, while pretending to pray
Here you will stay if you dare look away, don’t delay
They’ll come back to steal the memories you’ve got.
In your head they rot, craving addiction the plot
♞♜♝
Self-destruct the mission not a church intuition
But they pedal the lie from imagery altar while high.
Ringing hands of distain crocodiles pray know your pain
While they sharpen their teeth on your bones in a tomb
Snapping your head with a mouth loaded with blame
It’s hard for the truth when it’s coated with shame.
⏩ 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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