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WICKED
WICKED
Where are the boundaries of man--
Rocky mountains jostling to reach sky’s corner
White crashing rivers leaping with spawning fish
Or , the secret frontiers of the heart
Which wind blows the wicked across my path?
Fury Wind of the North—snow blinding
Browsing South Wind—lilac scenting
Or, unguarded breezes yearning to burst free my yoke
Green is certain the ground beneath moon shadows
But Night secrets spread grey the carpet of my world.
Danger prances joker-heartless through our door at whim
None dare stop him—And his brother
Terror feeds the babes.
Victoria Anderson-Throop ©
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