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 © | Year Posted 2006

Poem

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