Upon an edge, I find myself bound,
Rock and root bid me lie down.
Through forest dark and sky of black,
My thoughts drive forward,
To places from which none have ever come back.
A rising storm gathers near,
As quick as owl’s wings gather fear.
Take me from this chapter’s end,
I wish to not see ’round the winding bend.
For as the day falls into night,
My wooden frame fails with the light.
Michael is a husband, father, writer, poet, and aspiring author. He finds time to scribble down his thoughts in the dead of night, between ghosts and night owls. If you’d like to read more of his poetry follow the link here. Or to visit his full blog, ‘The Ink Owl’ click here.