Monday, 14 January 2013

Beneath the Midnight Moon

I found her
lying alone 
beneath the
midnight moon.
A fistful of weeds
A fistful of thorns
adorned her clenched
grasp, hold fast.
 Her wrists 
were covered-
She's slipping 
Blood's dripping 
She bleeds
red coats the weeds 
and thorns-
then a voice whispered
in the silent storm,  
the wind breathed
into the air
into her ear-
you reap what you sow
thorns and weeds
the reasons 
you feel so low
you know child
you deserve 
the woe
upon you
a fistful of weeds
a firstul of thorns
she silently mournes
she drifts into a fitful sleep
she wakes 
and breaks 
and breaks into
a wistful weep 
her cries echo in the wind
and bring a sadness,
sadness looms among
the evergreens...