Ecstasy, I followed your daughter past the branch-wreathed places from the fairy tales.
At a time of night, the birds stop singing, and at certain times everything else becomes silent. If the moon could hum, those nights, there would be sound in all but the darkest places.
I never did find new paths, but ancient ones to where the lonely howl.
Ecstasy, you never sang her lullabies or taught her prayers. I, too, made my own curfew.
I never knew her, but the grass was barely matted where I found her lying.
Her bones sighed and her strength released her, trembling. The cold exhale marked the end of summer.
A man does not pray, but offers his task to those that would accept it. I fought the crows off long enough for the Earth to mourn her.
Ecstasy, the world is the graveyard that you passed while whistling the other day.
We might shudder if we cross paths, unknowingly.
Now on his final year as a student at Aims Community College. Active member of Creative Writing Club and Aims English Honor Society. Enjoys writing poetry and fiction. Lifelong reader, writer, and student.