A nine-square poem...
Stark black ghost flies through time in cold rush
Frightening, declaring rudiments
of future to achieve or perish.
Its reach like ice steals joy and warns me
engaging inwardly fearfully
to forewarn, to repeat, to repel.
Pain need not be bad and one must hope
faithfully, carefully, hopefully
for destiny to arrive with kindness.
Copyright 2006 JO Janoski