We are not the sky.
We are not the earth.
We are just a reflection
resting on the water
and can be blown away
at the will of the wind.
All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
Human
IF
If
I had wings
the skies would have no limits
if
I had fins
the seas would have no depth
if
I had trust
the clouds could not delude me
if
I had belief
the currents could not drown me
but
I am man
and bound to faults and fears
but
I have eyes
that cannot see through the tears
but
I have feet that tire of walking
but
I have arms that cannot always reach
the things I want to touch
the places I want to see
the person I want to be
and yet
I have a heart
that’s fuelled on hope.
All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
Audio version available on Soundcloud:
https://soundcloud.com/damien-donnelly-2/if
FEATHERS IN FLIGHT
We are but fickle fellows,
like feathers that blow
at the beckoning of the breeze
and know not where we land.
We are the folly of fluttering fancies;
a collection of coincidental connections
that we cannot create, keep or control.
I found you once in a far flung field
and fought to find the freedom
to forge in you forever but wicked winds
wound my weakness in greater gales
and I lost my grounding in that garden,
never mine, never thine, never ours,
the petals perishing on prized plateaus
where passion never played to pleasure.
We are fellows of fluttering feathers,
too feeble to fight the forces
that blow us briefly onto bodies bare
and bring us back from that beauty
for fear we might one day
find the force to forge our own flight.
All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
SEASONAL SHIFT
I shift like nature, calling snows
To coat me, cover me in a crisp
Canvas of change to bathe in,
To be reborn in, before I skate away
From winds that wither my world.
Bone chilled, I can wander off
To warmer shores, eager for sun
To sooth me, to sink within me
In the form of friend, in the hope
Of something more significant,
Safely steering past the storms
Sent solely to scare, to remind me
Of nature and it’s naughtiness,
Prickling and pruning me, nipping
Away at my every blossom, often
Plucking me at every possibility.
I can be a season of hurricanes,
All harshened and hardened
By human history. I too can tear
Through territories and leave
My markings. I can command a sea
Of storms, all of my own making,
And rise a wave to part the oceans,
To aid me in my crossing to a new
Wide world of my own creation.
Damien B. Donnelly 