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
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.
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