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.