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

bestowed 

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...