Nightwatcher

Who is watching who
and to who does this occur?
just give me a reason

Blatently denied
supersticious and conflated
again into the back room

Devils here abound
and gruesome acts we count
forgetting a few options

Between these trees
barbaric tribes are hidden
seldom as obscure as my arm

Take it of they said
and put it to rest
give me a moment of calm

I saw in these places
something unique
and innocent

Yet beyond our borders
these rotting hearts
made of glass and sand and fiber

About Emil Hjort

Writer, poet and mysticist.
This entry was posted in Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *