So many midnight mind scenes;
A dark hill, remote in the price
It pays to be alone.
I suffer the impact of
Broken branches on too-tough trees
In the need to be as one.
Sacrificial as ancient witchcraft or creed,
I hope amidst the silence
That love can bring myself to me.
Across my heart and above my head
Each of the moons white eyes
Pose their eerie glory,
Two illuminating pools
Of a writer’s sky, and,
Scared as a storm wind,
I litter the hills of my house
Like a wood sprite,
Lifeless in my flightless wings,Though still breathing.