Mystic Murder

A force moving forwards,
another moving back.
A sway to the left
and a lurch to the right.

Briefly focusing on the present,
with half an eye to the past.
Forgetting all about the future.
Riding high in a lonely sky.

You know the way it’s going:
a sound of thunder down the road,
a storm is building out at sea,
a saintly wild wind rush.

Half forgotten calls,
imposing mystic murder
and night line shivers.
Falling low inside the hall.


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