I Stole the Night and Ship

I sailed by Her starry eyes,

Ever mindful of Her fragile prize,

Elders whispered of Lost Things,

and called me a Foolish Man.

They sat in their mud holes,

Green rot, withered Souls,

“You cannot understand!”

I yelled at them.

So, I stole the Night and Ship,

I peeled away their fetid grip,

and fled into Familiar Unknown,

with Misted Idiot’s Grin.

© All rights reserved, 2016.

Blogging Poetry

Obol View All →

Obol is a poet and an infrequent writer of prose.

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