Formal Poem

The Formal Poem: The Inevitable Hunter In rafters high where shadows sleep, Our inverted vigil we shall keep. With blood-rushed heads and heavy eyes, We watch the floor become the skies. Perched upside down on the verge of boredom, The kings of a hollow, silent kingdom. The wick is short, the flame is thin, A golden needle on porcelain skin. We seek to reach death at the end of a candle, A weight too heavy for hearts to handle. We crave the snuff, the smoke, the scent, Of a life exhausted and a fire spent. Into the gloom our spirits thrust, To seek a diamond in the dust. We try to find something that has already found us, Beneath the noise and the worldly fuss. For why hunt the wolf in the winter’s bite, When his teeth are already locked in the night?