We are staring at the moon
and I think for a second we become
Screaming at the stars,
growling at the idea
that this night might end
and we will forget this moment,
as in turn we will be forgotten.
Our wild souls
We become wolves,
and for once we are running for something.
Instead of running from it.
© Ruth Awolola from Rising Stars New Young Voices in Poetry (Otter-Barry Books)