With the moon hanging from a question mark,
and the wolf drinking from a river of eyes,
I walk the shore of shadows searching for answers
among star shells at my feet.
Christened with the name Impatient
by Pew Huggers of the Worst Intent,
I am tongue slapped with I don’t
have enough faith if I keep dropping why
into the offering plate of affliction.
Caught in a murder of crowing
I pace in circles trying to find my escape.
In the pfft and hiss of judgement’s posturing
the wolf howls and then speaks,
“A clock doesn’t hear, nor a calendar predict.
There are questions that will always question.
Answers you wish to never know.
Understand the flame of human will only
burn as bright as the one who strikes the match.”
©Susie Clevenger 2021