Poetry

Why do I write?

reading time less than a minute

In those dead, empty, hours,
I lie,
awake,
bones aching from heaving sleep.

Seizing notebook and pen,
I light a lamp,
Prick a finger,
and let the green ink weep.

Writing is bloodletting.

Night of May 26th 2015

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My name is Liam Robertson. I live with my four children in the village of Rostrevor. I had a wife, Niamh, but she died not that long ago. Most days you will find me writing code to feed my family. Most nights I write prose and poetry to prick and prod that ragged tear loss leaves behind.
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