Thinking Of You Poem by Francis Santaquilani

'Now Grendel came, from his crags of mist *
Across the moor; he was curst of God.
The murderous prowler meant to surprise
in the high-built hall his human prey.'


Thinking of you.

There was no mist,
But layers of joylessness always hung
Like heavy drapes.

No moor to cross,
But a long, bulbless hallway instead
Lined with dark rooms with doors slightly ajar,
And a high ceiling,
Or so it seemed at the time.

You did prowl
And you did surprise
Often.
I was the human prey.
You were not human.

I can't say if you were, 'curst of God'.
It seems that I am.
You were not of God.

*From Beowulf*