Maybe it is vanity that begs me,
To write of what was and is my state of mind.
As a child indigo hues found me,
Lying protected beneath warm blankets.
I lay in an ocean of melancholy,
Tides tossed me far and wide.
What was only minutes passed as days,
Causing me to tap this ancient soul.
Amorphous fears wallowed all about,
Willing me to succumb to inevitable turmoil.
Familiarity saved my young mind,
A quilt binding clenched between chilled fingers.
Far away a clock tower rang,
Vast waters dried up to nothing more than twisted sheets.
My first witching hour passed,
In the night I sobbed bitter tears.
-M.E. InkOwl
The Ink Owl 