Author Information
Smaointe
From a long darkened street, I turn to face the moon
It's light frees the darkness and makes all things new
A lone windmill stands erect in a field of dead grass
Dust swirls into twisters as an eye observes from the sky
Sinister laughs and the doubts they have cast
Like a grape I have been plucked; much to soon.
I seek escape, vengance, lust and failure
But these are not the way
The honesty it takes now cracks run through the vase
Pure water is to spill; my head under the flood to distill the flames
