Find me gone

Nom de plume, reaper, gatherer of all things wretched.
On the balcony at night, wrapped in thin cotton
and the arms of a ghost, I wait.
My soldier lies somewhere beyond the tower lights
as they flash a blatant warning, a profound testament
that mountain remains mightier than man ever will.

I make firefly wishes beneath a catatonic sky,
touched only by a phantom breeze.
The July heat, the full moon; they bring out the delirium
of an unbalanced world and when I hear my lover's words
within the angry moan of a passing train, I wonder
if I am meant to be christened: runaway.

The mountain maintains its history of savages
evolved to metal derricks with glowing red strobes,
the moon rides the sky, far as the train can go,
and I hide in my little corner with the lights out,
just another shadow.

(Artwork by Allen Birnbach)