Saturday, June 7, 2014

Song of the Banshee

As the moon rose within her womb
She covered her face
And wept—
Tears that could give birth
To babies with ten heads—
A dream
Clutched in each paw.

A wail arose from her self
A song—
A lullaby that had once put
Nightmares to sleep.

Years ago,
Many would join, 
They would sing and rejoice—
A chorus of sirens,
Each with an unborn baby.

Now,
The babies have grown up—
Men with innocent stubbles 
And daylong lusts.

So now,
They have fallen silent—
Afraid of the melody,
Teeming with the coldness of memory
And the warmth of abandon.

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