The shadowed head of history, - forbade,
With memory absentee - runs through my mind
Most savagely, a race for freedom’s accolades
Precedes the need to hunt for meat of kind.

Like some uncanny acolyte, this beast
Of night, of island fright, still eyes me with
Intent of dares, to creep into its feast
Of mind, the lowest rhyme of human myth.

The shadowed times of history, forbid
Remembrance, sportingly - running pig-paths
Loomingly - absorbed by senses morbid;
False the island mystery - of God’s wrath.

Like some unholy entity, I see
A place that I could be – if I could see.

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 2/27/05

~~Photo to come.