Wind blown,
Rootless,
Without these city walls.
In the dark
No torch to light the way
I stumble
And I fall.
Bloodstained
I rise,
No recollection
Whether this blood is my own.
Blood on my hands
Match the stains on my soul.
But I do not know
Whether I still have
A soul to call my own.
For I have bartered
Everything I have ever owned,
For the chance
To walk alone
In the dark,
Outside these city walls.
The raven and the wolf
Walk in their own dark
Parallel to me.
And I can feel them out there in the shadowland,
But our paths will never cross
Just move on in parallel for eternity.
I hear them
In the silences that reign
In the ages between each breath.
I hear the wolf howling
And hope that my brother
Still howls for me.
While the raven’s wingbeats
Echo up into heaven’s
Eternal emptiness
Sounding the death knell
For what might have been.
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Made of sticks and stones 