Werewolves
Starving amber eyes that drink oasis scraps
Thrown from her cast off demeanour to fall
Upon the bare heart scape which formats and maps
The course of true love, or of nothing at all.
I am monkshood drawn, snared willingly onward,
No gaining of ground only losing of grip,
In a faithful disruption clawed inward and outward
For a smile or rebuke in the curl of her lip.
In keeping the secret and living with heartbreak,
Devoured by werewolves invisibly barking,
The madness and sadness, wolfs bane and earthquake,
Life wished away and time made for marking.
Some days it feels like a carnival dying,
With darkness encroached of a consummate skill;
Then others it lessens, the whole world goes flying,
She may want me again, and I plead that she will.
Copyright © Tony Bush | Year Posted 2005
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