Night Mistress

February 21, 2019

She came to the light,
Searching for answers.
For years, she checked
Every temple and shrine
Looking for the one
Who saved her soul.

To her surprise,
It wasn’t the light that
Answered her call but
Instead shadow itself.
Cloaked in darkness,
A voice like ink spoke:
“Little bird,” it said,
“The void speaks, and
It knows your name.”

“Why me?” she asked,
Her frustration obvious.
“I saw you as you were,
And I see what you’ll be.
You may yet be useful,”
The darkness replied.

While she left with
More questions, her
Heart was not weary;
To know she one of
Such limitless power
On her side gave her
Some semblance of


The Kingdom of Stars

November 17, 2014

The sun set far to the south,
And the moon had begun its
Celestial trek across the blue
And indigo of night’s canopy.
There is where we meet again.

It was the kind of evening
Where the clouds surrendered
Their domain to the kingdom
Of the stars, and each breath
Hangs in the air, desperate.

Frosted gales blow in across
The mountain passes, sifting
Snow like powdered sugar
Onto the few travellers who
Dared brave the journey east.

A thousand and one words
Stand at attention on the tip
Of my tongue, none escape.
Every sentence falters, even
Those we give ourselves.

That blessed land between
Darkest night and dawn’s light:
Here is where we meet again.



September 16, 2014

Noiseless whispering:
Our new crime scene.
Lift the veil, and enter.
Your eyes will adjust
To the darkness within.
As wind rustles leaves
On the trees outside,
We move silently,
Shapes in the dark.

Both hidden and bare,
We will let the night
Take the helm and drive
Into sweet oblivion.
Before the sun rises,
We shall have taken
More than we can give
And lie in the morning.



March 19, 2014

Silent footsteps creep across
The carpeted living room floor,
Eyes wide open but blind
To the bleak midnight air.
She tilts to the left, just a bit,
Farther than she would
If she were awake.

Sleepwalking runs in her blood,
Her mother had told her once.
Lock your door and leave a light
On in the hallway, just in case.
Neither measure helped, but
It was the thought that counts.
Like leaving the window open
For the deceased’s soul to leave,
It seemed like a futile gesture.

Wandering aimlessly across
The stillness of the concrete
Courtyard, this is the farthest
Her feet have walked on their
Own volition. If someone
Were to spot her now, they
Would be torn between
Calling for help and waking
Her from her grave journey.

Each night calls her closer
To its icy embrace, until she
Is lost to it forever.