I write about bleeding moss

trickling with emerald through my fingers

like a spring stream through the rock crevice

I write about dark woods, where silence reigns

like a thick cocoon made of loneliness

I write about haunted moonlights and old pine trees

cursed realms where shadowed wilderness meets sunlight

about creatures of deep darkness and spirits of blinding light

the eternity that touches brief with its feather

allowing it to see one more day

I am a beast of ink

a wolf made of words

creating worlds; kissing the dawn