The Ransom of Light

These hours are dangerous,
when there is only
the light we create
to hold back the darkness,
and somewhere between
passion and madness
is found the spark that
tames the thunder and
captures the wind
and with them weaves symphonies,
else these hours offer silence
and hopes and dreams
are allowed to wither and fade,
and be lost to the corpse of day…

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The Wild

It’s wild out there,
and dangerous,
a wilderness full of peril:
the deep and dark woods,
the jagged lofty mountains,
the sweeping desert wastes,
and open, endless plains;

it’s wild out there,
among soaring glass spires
standing over a web
of asphalt and concrete and light;

it’s wild out there,
in those places were shadows loom,
and creatures both man and beast,
flesh and bone, known and unknown
lurk in search of flesh and soul for their feast;

it’s wild out there–

but never so wild
as the heart full
of an urge to go to do to be,
to wander under stars
on paths as yet untread;

it’s wild out there…

…but it’s wilder in me.