Cunning Words Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai

cunning words
the life of thirsty things
the cry of the night wolf
the cunning of the thief
who steals all, and the last
beauty as good wine deserves.
I saw him in garbled clothes
to kill the cold
but more than that
to hide him at the best
for out of place was he
where he know and knew
he should not be.
but there he was.
I heard the clawings of
a strange and savage
beast
I heard the utterings
wafted on the rain and winds
I heard them
I heard the frost crunch under
the increase of cold
I heard the blood congeal inside
my veins
I heard the things of night all
in a hum
and it was night
for it was night
and peace has by now left
my Inner Soul, and exile
went looking for more Sub-conscious
in another land.
Yea! my Monsignor, open your eyes
the Dawn comes soon to aid
the owl presently wise.