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Martha Lyn

In the dead of night 
Artemis, skilful archer, hunts, 
Her quiver full of shafts of light, 
Plucked from moonbeams 
In the dead of night.

 Wake, sleeper, wake. 
The full moon rises, silvers the land. 
Run to your window in cold sweat of fear 
Artemis is near. 
Her sliver-thin hounds stalk their prey, 
And self-shadows clear.

Whether you hide, frozen with fear - 
Whether you fly, wrapped in the wind - 
Whether you flow, towed by the tide - 
Or, fist frantic, hammer the granite gate 
Earth-stone opening to the stars, 
Till you dissolve in seas of space - 
Hurtle through aether's flood of forms 
That lock existence into time,

Nought avails.

Those restless relentless hounds of hers 
Can range beyond the circling planets, 
Who sing their siren notes in orbit - 
Can flush you out from clouds of stars, 
That composed cacophany, the milky way.

 Wherever you flee, 
Her slender, silver arrows of light 
Pierce your mind.

At last you will see 
You can really go 
Where you long to be.

When Artemis hunts, 
She targets you 
To set you free.


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