Night Owl

Here’s one of the first times I ever hinted at “The Poet”.

The chirping has

long since silenced.

My eyes

roam

the landscape,

searching.

Searching and waiting.

Minutes crawl by

with nary a whisper to

follow.

A patch of

grass

welcomes me

as I remove my

equipment from

my pack and

begin the

all too familiar

ritual, and

wait.

The deepest nerves

buried in marrow

shiver. Focusing,

I force my spirit

to retain my

hand.

It guides

my friend as

it races

across the

pages. Spilling

secrets that none

will ever witness

as long as the sky glows

and the sheep

seek and peak

looking to

find my last

bit of sanctuary.

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2 thoughts on “Night Owl

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