Nights on Spice Island #1.15
Updated: Sep 11
Golden, the sun slips.
Shadows creep as the day star wrings red from the west.
Winds driving night to my doorstep
heighten my sense of time passing.
Voices there - cruel, whispering.
A bit of cheer, of joy
is ample offense
to incite the swoop
to bring rocks to break windows
for talons to tear skin.
I lie cold in the moments of calm
for they come.
They come for what's in my pocket,
for what's pinned on my bandoleer -
trophies earned, mountains scaled.
Still, in the dark, I seek peace.
For though they aim to take all,
I am all.