Alone and frightened,
my breath was tightened.
While under the yellow moon.
The movement seemed suspicious,
what first appeared auspicious.
My heart was young,
when I begun.
Under the yellow moon.
With each crackled leaf,
in disbelief.
I clutched each branch,
each step a chance.
Under the yellow moon.
My ears did spy,
a distant cry.
While howling winds,
sped quickly by.
Such waves of dread,
marched through my head.
While under the yellow moon.
With constant yearn,
for my return.
My soul was beckoned,
and in one second,
I soon forgot,
this tourniquet,
that cut my breath,
as I waited for death.
Under the yellow moon.
Fortuitously,
soon stumbled and fell,
I thought I'd fallen straight to hell.
When I awoke,
I'd not been choked.
But rather beamed,
as morning broke.
Relieved and quelled,
from nighttime's spell.
It all did seem,
just like a dream.
While under the yellow moon.
The sunshine's warmth,
wraped so secure.
A truth procured,
now self-assured.
It dawned on me,
why I survived.
I ceased to fight,
the evening light.
And slept neath
the yellow moon.

James Harmon McQuilkin
C 2010