There’s a wind blowing
Cold through the corridors,
A ghost-wind,
The flapping of defeated wings,
A hell-fantasy
From meadows damned
To eternal April
And listening, listening
To the wind
I hear
The throat-rattle of dying men,
From whose ears oozes
Foamy blood,
Throttled in a brothel.
I see brightly
In the wind vacancies
Saint Thomas Aquinas
And
Poetry blossoms
Excitingly
As the first flower of truth.
(Patrick Kavanagh)
More Poetry from Patrick Kavanagh:
Patrick Kavanagh Poems based on Topics: Man, Literature, Truth, Listening, Death & Dying, Poetry, Failure- Having To Live in the Country (Patrick Kavanagh Poems)
- On An Apple-Ripe September Morning (Patrick Kavanagh Poems)
- On Raglan Road (Patrick Kavanagh Poems)
- April Dusk (Patrick Kavanagh Poems)
- Innocence (Patrick Kavanagh Poems)
- Inniskeen Road: July Evening (Patrick Kavanagh Poems)
Readers Who Like This Poem Also Like:
Based on Topics: Man Poems, Death & Dying Poems, Truth Poems, Literature Poems, Poetry Poems, Listening Poems, Failure PoemsBased on Keywords: throttled, brothel, vacancies, aquinas