Northern Lights

 

     She must be so tired –

     Plotted all along

To move this way,

     And she’s big,

Too big for rings – more-so

Her moons can never tether

Tails to secure her,

     And yet,

She is not so free,

 

     She twists and bows daily,

And she is neither cold or hot but both,

     But if wanting for reason

To her existence I am sure,

Sure as my lofty gait will explain,

She doesn’t want to see -

Doesn’t want the explanation

Of man’s insistence to kill,

    

     She spins only one way,

Tired upon the same,

But my intuition - for one

Who has courted

The aurora;

     Knows the wolf howls pain

Only in death throes

And melancholy;

     A wolf that wishes a sleep

Upon the souls of men;

     Men with envy,

Who court anger as a virtue;

In exclamations of rage!

 

 

Michael J Waite 27th January 2016.