Wolf's Moon
the bightest moon of the year.
blazing moonlight as phoebe's tear.
to me it tis the day I fear.
when there's no shadow to hide.

in the nymph tobacco consume,
and rings of smoke grace the tomb,
giving air to silent plume.
when quill and parchment collide.

so I dedicate to gods lupine,
a ring of smoke and sacred wine,
an love that to me define,
and knw why fair face phoebe cried.


Charon
Charon The lord of the dead
Chooses inkling trace
The teacher instead?
Not needing to race

As trust and respect,
both we shall earn,
if our paths intersect,
we'll both perhaps learn.

for as one known to the night,
a keeper of sacred quill,
this poem I quickly write,
as you welcome the kill.

so tell me my ghost,
my passage is paid,
raise a glass in toast,
and to the styx fade.