The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
Interlocative

Invocative your runes twist
in the late light
of the last season
of forgotten Durins days

Stumbling amid moon shadows
shrouding the uninitiated
in silver lit slivers of
shifting comprehensions

Til the tumblers are satisfied
to turn walls into hearth
and spent grains to moments
of mead and mayhem told to
a rousing boister where
firelight lets lost ancestors
join the milieu and sing
softly amongst the dragonhoard

How I relish the quaffing 
of revelations to astonish,
luxuriate in the warmth of
the taming of windstorms and
worship the thatched defiance of
the termination of lightnings.
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©2024 Mark Daniel Milbocker  All rights reserved.