- MIKE STEEDEN -

This early morn

In a fragment of a dream

Called to mind

Soon forgotten

The owl returned

 

Gave me a backward glance

Then flew away

 

The mischief was done

The august silent

Slayer of the darkness

In an instant

Stole my eyes

Left me with just

Vacant sockets

 

I could still feel

Smell and hear

And think

But no longer could I see

 

Fumbling for my blind destiny

I died upon a

Pine forest floor

A carpet of

Razor sharp

Charity shop

Cast off cones

My mattress

The circle of

Salivating wolves

My pallbearers

 

The Succubus read

My eulogy

She told lie after lie

A demented cackle

It mattered not

Only the moon mourned my passing

 

I knew this would happen

The day the owl returned

 

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