Hell on a six inch nail.
The hell I made on a bed of nails from demonic squeals to ghostly wails.
I pulled handrails a stair at a time to claim a memory that wasn’t mine.
I rode the want I desired the wonder. I caught the stars and the dust pulled me under.
I swam ashore, I breathed the earth. I felt the mud. I called you forth.
Magic fires so faint and dim.
The moonlit sky, you’re clear within.
I claim your person, wife and daughter.
I claim your soul but not your heart.
© G.P Williamson 2018