Of Worse or Better
A Sirens Lament
She is cold
staring at the stars
imagining they were pillows for
her painful mind
On the horizon a distant glow
a merchant ship or fisherman’s craft
she sees a Lance
Surely a man with a desire to be kind
Distance closes in
there is a scent of him that she cannot lie
it calms her shaking
Too cold to sing
she can only whisper
All she needs is a touch in the night
He reaches into her abyss of worse
and holds her soul until the better
