Night Owl
She sit alone most
days, most nights.
Perched in corner
with her pipe.
Smoking rock she
holds on tight,
only to fade into
the light of the
flickering candle
she burns so
bright.
For night owl
know all is not
right,
can't find her way
she won't fight so,
death awaits her
final flight perched
in corner with her
pipe that numbs all
feelings, that wrongs ,
all right.
So close the door the
windows now, lock
them tight don't make
a sound and, creep
around quietly if any
should knock you,
can't be to trusting
in your spot.
So, let the tears build
up till your weak in
your knees, and, keep
on smoking to the
wheeze, of the poison
your pipe does breed.
Copyright © Breeann Mahoney | Year Posted 2006
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