The Exiles

Snow drifts past the entrance
Of our makeshift camp:
A cave without friendship,
Fire or lamp.

Once, we would never
Have come here alone;
Now a man you once trusted
Sits on your throne.

You pace and you mutter,
At war with yourself.
I know I can’t ease you;
I keep to myself.

I let my thoughts drift,
As the snow drifts outside.
What plots, what schemes
Run through your mind?

Are they thoughts of revenge
Against the one who betrayed you?
Who murdered your mistress,
All just to frame you?

Oh, my love:
You’ll never know,
But I’m the traitor who lost us
To the ice and the snow.


Back to the Middle

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Take me back, back,
Back to the middle;
Back to the days
When I was yours.
Back when you played me
Like I was your fiddle,
And it was a song
That I adored.

I don’t wanna relive
Those awkward beginnings
Where I didn’t feel
What I do now.
Oh the things you did
Back then, to win me:
They aren’t things
I’d disavow.

So take me back,
Back to the middle;
Back to us, to what
We were before.
When you made me feel other
Than frightened and little;
Back when you were my friend
And ever much more.

Please take me back,
Back from this ending:
This is a book
That deserves a sequel.
I’ll do anything;
I’ll quit the pretending.
Just please, don’t make me
Into a prequel.


Cobblestone and carriages;
Streetlamps and sleuths.
Masterminds, and myriads
Of problems and proofs.

Fog in the freeze,
And dogs on the chase.
Same villains, same routine;
Was it all a waste?

Sidekicks and soliloquies:
By the fireplace now.
Ah! But the doorbell bears a question
And I’ll bet it starts with “how.”

At the Witching Hour

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I found you at the witching hour
Upon this night of ghosts
Longing to know your favorite flower,
And which stars you love the most.

I came here at the witching hour
For I knew where you would be:
On nights like this, there’s a power
That draws you to these trees.

In the forest, at the witching hour,
I watch you once again;
‘Til the sun rises, shadows cower,
And you pass beyond my ken.


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I never really loved you
When love was all you had.
But still I stole what you gave freely,
And drove you slowly mad.

We spent over a year like that,
Where you loved me more than you could say;
But with your love you looked at me
While I could only look away.

You saw the writing on the wall
When I at last saw what we had;
Now it’s my turn to be saddened,
And your turn to be iron-clad.

For another year like that
I’d give more than I can say.
But the day that I love anything,
Is the day you walk away.