Beneath The Piscean Moon

I was wrought forth in awe of my mothers’ womb.

Afflicted was I beneath the chill of a Piscean moon.

Blighted were the paradoxes exorcised of this darkness.

Gnawing fingers grapple; unto a yawning maw which reveals.

Blinding lights steal away the darkness; pain now begins.

Born now am I unto man; sired in hope only to know the coming end.

Though now these my days pass; measured only by the rising sun.

I shall someday soon see my truth when alas the final race is run.

J. Allen Wilson © 11-2007