Night musing

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It is the ticking of the clock that does it. The whirring of the fan and the rest silence.   I own the night and my loves all asleep. Every one of them multiply afflicted, each affliction minor but inconvenient.   Two babies went...

It is the ticking of the clock

that does it.

The whirring of the fan

and the rest

silence.

 

I own the night

and my loves all asleep.

Every one of them multiply afflicted,

each affliction minor but inconvenient.

 

Two babies went missing today,

not a trace of them anywhere,

nobody knows anything,

their siblings oblivious.

What a shitty father.

 

The day stretched on like a desert

before a desiccated man,

today was like that,

seemingly interminable,

achingly dull.

 

And you were there,

as usual, just a voice in my head

and a memory of earnest eyes

and a reassuring voice

telling me I am going to be fine.

 

-----------------------------------

 

I am no butterfly

to be caught and examined

and loved and adored,

with every detail measured and documented.

I am no artwork

to be hung on a wall

and critiqued and marvelled at,

'oh what wonderful colours!'.

 

 

I am a wolf

and I lay at your door,

snarling, baring dripping fangs.

Oh, you may pet me,

please do,

but only if I allow it,

and you may not turn me away.

I am only tame because I choose.

Not of your making.

I refrain from biting

out of respect and loyalty

to the fingers that raked my shaggy fur,

but I can bite, sister,

have no doubt.

 

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