Brigid Faye, Reader

Running up a cliff face,

Never giving up the chase,

Of my body and my shadow.

Different faces running scattered,

Enough to leave my ego tattered.

Afraid of what I’ll find.

And I am running to my soul,

In stillness I feel her pull.

My mind is full of echos

Of memories of meadows,

And the dark events transpiring there.

All that I know to act,

Is cool and matter of fact.

Until my emotions

Break the damn confusion.