-
The quill...
My weapon of choice,
my inner seed that gives
life to my inner fire,
all of my turmoils
is also, at times,
the root of my
misery.
-

The room in starlight bathed
My body unscathed
Swimming indoors
sheets are shores

Wash over me like the tide
for I don't sleep at night
Swimming indoors
where it always pours

Moon reflection
on my cushion
Swimming indoors
following ancient lores

Diving deep to find
an Atlantis on my mind
Swimming indoors
til reaching the dream's source

And so I go
I bid you farewell
Don't forget
I love you so
this is all I know
all I can tell
For my own sake
I have to find out
not about
what's high
but what is low
so you will find me
way down in the well
under the lake

I know
You still feel the need
to carve your initials
into stones,
into the concrete
All I want is
to leave mine
on your lively skin
along your spine
Don't think
stone would care
for we are nothing but
cycling trivialities
stone won't know
what we'd dare
stone doesn't have
an interest
in our qualities

I know
Now I take
my leave of you
you, the idea
me, something that
wants to be true
But let me promise
you and me
we'll meet
for the first time
before the tide will reach
the last tree
Because then
all books
will be gone
no one there
to sing us
a sad song
And all these words
will be of no avail
and nothing
that now hurts
will prevail

Everything is
inevitably
designed to
disintegrate
the whole of
earths array
linked until the end
inseparably
and all of us
will have to trade
place by place
memory by memory
until we all fade

So I'll hold you
then
just like I now
hold this pen
steady and assured
together
washed upon human life's
last shore
when all's undone
that once was made
I will hold you
and think
what a comfort
this beautiful fate

The wolves are hungry tonight
and so is she
her heart does know no fright
with her pack she longs to be

Under the bloodmoon
see her limbs grow
her feral body is to swoon
turning wolf into lady from head to toe

Her brothers and sisters sharp teethed
running with the winds of winter
in this cold and star-bright night they will feast
blood smearings in the snow look just like cinder

Hear her song howling through the air
all ice melts underneath her fiery feet
as they catch and bite and tear
lucky ones see her eyes before their demise they meet

'Tis the night of the hunt
benighted men will not run
shouting "Begone! Animal! ****!"
happily she devours them, flayed bodies in the morning sun

She's always lurking, lusting for your smell
Dripping wet her mouth with the juice of life
no one lived for the story to tell
of the wolf woman, dark wood's feral wife

'How humid the air is,' she murmurs
with her eyes closed. With her fair back
resting her bare back on a tree of eld,
she listens to the sounds of nature
The winds blowing
The flapping wings of geese
The songs of the birds around
The sound of falling leaves
Exhaling through her nose, she opens
her wet russet eyes, soaking in the
myriad of tumbling leaves from
orange to brown. She rises to her
feet, the sunlight kisses her straight
fiery hair. With each step she takes,
the wind blows and the branches
quivers.
'Winter's howling call,' she chuckles
weakly as she walked down the cold
pathway. Acorns fall in front of her
which she picks up. Seeing the squirrels
scrabbling around, she opens her palm,
'Here,' she strokes the squirrel's tail as
it takes the nuts and scurries away.
Here, in the heart of the forest,
the leaves fall golden as she sits
next to a pumpkin patch, each ripening
with their mistress near.
'The days grow short, the nights grow long,'
she places a hand on a pumpkin, 'I hear
your call, Sister.'
The cold winds twirl around in response
Let all prepare for the harvest is fruitful,
and the wolves will howl for the Frost
comes...

I feel the darkness grow and stalk
                     the halls of my mind,
        whispering words of mockery,
                  words that I cannot help
                                but take to heart...

What if I am not good enough?
                                Am I a failure?
                   What if I can't do this?
                    Am I lying to myself?
What if I make a fool of myself?
                    Am I truly talentless?

  All of this runs around my mind,
       having me chase and bite and
      pull my own tail as the darkness
         laughs, loud, proud and cruel.
             Am I just wasting my time?
           Is the quill and ink meant for
                              someone like me?
           Am I even good at what I do?
                   I don't know what to do
                   I don't know what to think
                            All I know is...is that
                                            IT HURTS

It all hurts too much...
Far too much...

                       How I want to hide...