Through the undulating glass
The darkness is disarmed
By flaming flickers
Of candlelight
The night cloak
Is snuffed out
The storm is raging
The Gods are mad
They send sharp shapes
Through the maudlin sky
Their fingers seem to point at me
I see my fear reflected
It’s forcing me to stare
Demanding unrelentingly
That I should take pity
On this poor
And wretched soul!
She’s getting angry now
She can see my head is bowed
I’m buried deep
I am scratching with my pen
Trying to write her out
I don’t like this window
This mirror to my soul
Perhaps if I dig in deep enough
I will weather this storm
Out
Despondently
I sink into my chair
Desperation has me clinging
To the old oak tree
Which now proudly stands
In this dusty room
And has become my solace
Under every moody, melancholic moon
She knows all my secrets
She is sodden with my tears
I have shared with her my
Every thought
She will not let me down
We ready ourselves
Against the storm
Stare it straight into the eye
We raise up
We are prepared to fight!
With swollen lungs
And brittle tongues
We brace ourselves
For the longest night
The sweet smell of whisky
And stale tobacco smoke
Mingles with the sunrise
And morning song
Of birds
To rouse me from my slumber
For another day amongst the herds
Bleary eyed and feeble
I drink in the depressing scene
The leaves have fallen
Crumpled
Rumpled
All around our feet
But we have survived another storm
Me and my old
Oak tree
Yet with her infuriating stubbornness
She gives a knowing glance
You know that there is no-one
With such knowledge of your soul
We will meet again
In the wee small hours
We will resume our prayers
This is just a brief reprieve.
C.K.23
