Twisted bone of fashioned walnut,
Tethered together with string.
Wrap this little wicker-man tight as sinew,
Dangle him kicking over a sting.
Stoke the fire with fork of cedar,
Bring the blood to boil.
Add a wanderer’s hair for a pinch,
When moon has grown too full.
Rake his frame across the yew,
Then drop him into the bowl!
Scream out with a murdered voice,
Cast down the glass of bone.
Look upon the black stars of night,
And drift into the guilty one’s soul.
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.
If you’d like to read more darker writings from the Ink Owl follow the link and enjoy!