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 Bridget untitled poem 

By Bridget  O'Toole 



Due to God’s speaking of matricide

A son with fathomless feelings,

Doting son decided in fear
“Blacken lady’s life where its brightness began”
Never flinching whilst committing
Hardest yet most compassionate of acts
Support echoed from that revered voice;
 “Conscience was the ardour “
“Conscience was the soul”
They call conscience the voice of God
Now after matricide, God was the voice
Knew he now, that it was never God who spoke
Instead God echoed
“Sinner, sinner”
After oak tree was no God
Now he was horrified for
His mind now spoke harsh truths

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