When I was a boy
under blankets
I twisted through dreams
that turned on me
soft and slow
as if time
had slipped from my hands
in my desire to turn
from boy to man
but now I wonder if time
was warning me
of the ties
that get lost
when we try to outrun
our fears.
All words and drawings by Damien B. Donnelly
Poems, Poetry, Poets
Some lays of the Fianna, translated from the Irish by Annraoi de Paor with illustrations by Tim Halpin
Spoken Word - Poetry, Flash Fiction, Prose
The Things That Are In My Head.
Stay Bloody Poetic
Author of 'Unmuted', 'Saudade' and 'Psychopathogen'
home of the elusive trope
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a poetry blog & online home to the work of José Angel Araguz, Ph.D.
By Miri Elm
Damien B. Donnelly 
I like the way all of your posts are bound together, with ideas, words, and lines.
When we are young we are eager to be grown up, but once we get there…ah, hindsight. (K)
Thank you Kerfe. Hindsight must be something we forgot in paradise