When Damien asked me if I’d like to contribute a ghostly poem or two to his Halloween podcast, I wasn’t up to writing anything new, especially nothing unsettling. Now that life is limping along again, the creepy, ghostly stuff seems easier to write. This one can be for the earthweal prompt.
Singing to the wind
I sing my songs in the winter wind,
I sing them for the plucked and skinned;
bless them Father, for they have sinned.
My sins are pale and holy songs
that sweep away all rights, all wrongs
and leave the rest where it belongs.
In dark of moon and dark of night,
I sing the songs of holy light,
and pluck the stars that died of fright.
Come, watch me pull the moon around,
in her empty belly, no saviour’s found,
this year will die without a sound.