I feel as if I stand atop a sharp pinnacle;
Tall, dark, ragged, foreboding.
In all directions, save one;
Misery, loneliness, pain, darkness.
In that one direction, hope;
Bright, flowering, happy, blessed.
The callous winds of change start to blow.
With the keening screams of the Bean Sidhe.
Causing one’s soul to quiver and cry in its harmony.
I try my best to keep my balance,
But find I must also fight gusts of wind
Blowing out from my hope.
Coldly trying to push me over the edge,
Instead of warmly embracing me to safety.
I am trapped.
I can feel no relief.
Maybe it would be best to close my eyes;
Open my arms to the winds;
And let the Bean Sidhe do what it will.

Dan Gray
2003