On the eve of All Saints' turns the mid of the night As the air in my throat slides like silk There's a song cool seeps through me, smooth on the moon's light And the taste speaks of bone and of milk I have danced up the leaves on a grave -- deep my grin As I felt the ghosts call back my note For the beasts of this night are my kith and my kin And the mist will do fine for my coat Full of song, not a shade will pulse fear in my chest -- No lost voice, nor no beast in grey tree I snarled knives up at them and then laughed at the jest When they bared their knife grins down at me Shall we run then? While all curl with fear in their sleep Let us bound in the mist, twirl and prance Till the dawn chase the ghosts back to darks the more deep And my blood leaps the last of Night's dance
Reason for writing:
I wrote this in answer to a challenge: write a poem using only words of one syllable! As well, the piece sums up the general feel of a particular phase and/or era I went through, years ago.
Birth sign: Not entered
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View more poems by Jen Finlayson (Sagittarius; Dog; Elk).