Fear be damned. I ran
Over Highland crag,
Crushing heather, silver, moonlit
Grass beneath my feet, a slender
Yellow square of light maddening
The night hungers for me. My hem
Against the dirt, against the stone
Outcroppings, rustling like feathers. A
Wisp of you. I falter for the
Beckoning; the pale and hollow
Hope I hold begins to bleed.
Godspeed! Before the sky is
Torn; the lightning claws a
Song against the world. The
Drenchèd ground, the clouds, amass,
A tomb and they the
Gate. I cannot wait. In haste I left
My blood upon a stone,
Red and loud; a smear; a
Mocking shout: Love is
Dead. My dream a ton upon my
Soul, a thread unspun. Into
Myself I’ve flung iniquity. Moon-white
Stream, absolve the wicked deed;
Summer rain,
Drenching, chilling, pelting
Moor and heath. Electric
Ember, satiate my need—I
Feel nothing but the howling.
I hear nothing but the howling.
I fear nothing but the
Howling of the wind.

– (c)2016 by Sanguine Woods. All rights reserved.