A Poem, Dedicated To Saoirse Ronan

A Poem, Dedicated To Saoirse Ronan long poem

Photo by Doug Kline

Since I have seen you, I have been infected
With tormented love to you, and I have been
Tortured by mysterious executioner.
He is invisible, only felt. At every evening,
Before sleep, he whips a dagger into my heart,
And it bleeds all night. In the morning,
Whereat I wake up after sleepless sleep,
The same punisher cauterizes the wound
With heated seal and brands your name in my heart.

Although my sufferings increase, when
I see your picture, only, don’t think,
That I blame you. Oh no, how can I reproach
To such lovely living being, as you.
The daintiness of your face would be envied
By Euridice, herself, by the nymphs, themselves.
As peasant brushes his palm through yellow ripened crops
With a smile of gratification, because
His springhead of subsistence has yielded,
Thus it so Nature caresses your yellow hairs
With gentle breeze and admires the work of herself.

Your face is white and sleek as a lily. How could I find
The blissful bridge between you and me,
How could I find the key of the palace of your heart?
We are separated by so high a barrier, that I am unable
To jump over. Wherever I go, whatever I do,
I always see your silk face with luminous eyes.
I dream you at nights. In these dreams
We used to be close and mingle together.
After awakening from these dreams, the sorrow
Of bitter truth encompasses me again and again.
How could I find the path to you. Will I ever
Sail up into your harbour by my boat?

I understood, why this executioner punishes me.
He does so in order to seek the good.
He punishes me and, at the same time,
His finger shows to aim, to happiness,
That is to say, to the object, which would quench
His fierceness. Guess: to which object,
Object which like rain of Spring, washes
All the dirt, lingered about in springtime air,
Like refreshing waters of spring, soothes
My purulent heart, he shows? Yes – to you.

Although a lot of people commit suicide due to
Unbearable suffering, but anguish has no intention
To kill us. On the contrary – it seeks the good for us,
It wishes, that we abide. Only, it can not be ignored –
We must lend our ear to what it says
And obey it’s guidance to fulfilment of luck.

And yet, maybe, it is good, that you handed
The dagger and seal to him. Rather these tools will rust,
Than I abjure my intention. I unappease until
Among such names as Beatrice, Laura and Lota
I brand in people’s memory the name SAOIRSE.

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (1 votes, average: 3.00 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Giedrius Koncius

Signup / Login to follow the poet.
Born in 1986 in Lithuania. Poetry has "infected" me through love poems, especially through W. Shakespear's sonnets. I have read all the classical poetry in lithuanian, so I learn english in order to be able to read english poetry loosly. I also write, but first in lithuanian and later I translate them into english in order to gain some popularity, because Lithuania is too small country to make your amateur poetry popular. Thanks to the High On Poems for creating conditions to break through.
Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

1 Comment on "A Poem, Dedicated To Saoirse Ronan"

Notify of
Sort by:   newest | oldest

A wonderful poem! I enjoyed it much!


A Poem From Mud Poetry By Doug Jackson

A Poem From Mud Poetry By Doug Jackson elegy

And with a gust of defeat; the future seems familiar. Has the oneness forgotten about me? The interconnectedness of futile Embellishments followed by straights of garbage, lack-luster trash, soul-less sirens of shit-laced spines, irrelevance, trains without brakes. Exposure, death, the

Dedicated To Scott Weiland

Dedicated To Scott Weiland short poem

Arrest this lament this false flag of endeavor star eyes at elsewhere parachute of the midnight aplomb splendor soils christened by an exorama defouled by a parasite cancel who are you in the liturgy of night? nameless index of heathen

Not That Type Of Poem

Not That Type Of Poem long poem

Sorry death But I’m going to cheat on you With life that is She’s too beautiful With her crisp fresh air days And her sun filled rays In this poem This girl lives for another day I finally wake up

Sleepy Eyed Poem

Sleepy Eyed Poem short poem

A sleepy set of eyes As I awoke to write A little blurry as I type Through a sleepy set of eyes Blinking once blinking twice To let these eyes adjust Helping me read and think Sinking each word into

One Poem From Mud Poetry

One Poem From Mud Poetry elegy

Strangers from incident, lies for distance, pitfalls of living infrequent, Rushes of sympathy pass over like fever sweat. In concurrent motion the wolves swarm on the lifeless carcass. Impending emotions fill the hole in my stomach, my chest continues to