There is a cool breeze in my bone
The inky night closes in
The wolves curse in the blackness
With their wordsless whispers
That settle in my bones like winter"s warmth
The wovles groan and whimper to the dead moon
With her pale sunken face
She calms the world with white
And all is silent
Except for the tiny pinpricks
Who speeak volumes
But can only be heard by few
The escape of the light is effortless
As the breeze blows them away
And a single pinprick remains
Then that too is silenced