Fire & Whiskey

By fire I sit,

In cold of night,

Tranced’ by moonlight,

And whiskey’s bite.

Wolves they circle,

Do what they will,

I chug a swill,

But feel no thrill.

Encamped alone,

Faraway lands,

With sands and snakes,

And calloused hands.

My bow rests close,

Eyes closing fast,

Dozing off in,

Deserts so vast.

Perhaps I can,

Sleep without dreams,

That keep me trapped,

Along time’s seams.

For when I wake,

I hope to feel,

The scope of nil,

With heart of steel.

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I wrote this poem in the form of an Irish trian rannaigechta moire. It has six quatrains, just four syllables per line, the second and fourth lines rhyme with the end word of each quatrain ending in consonate. There is also a rhyme between the third and fourth line, and not always the end word.