Nov 2018
The moon in the green sky is a wicked thing
Who always cackles at the sorrow that my life loves to bring.
It gives a snarl at me if I cast a smile
And it makes sure that I can’t even find light for a mile.
Who always cackles at the sorrow that my life loves to bring.
It gives a snarl at me if I cast a smile
And it makes sure that I can’t even find light for a mile.
A poem from a few days ago and I finished yesterday and am now uploading. I have a supernatural story I'm making, and this poem is basically based on one of the main characters, who has no idea what happened to her enslaved family.
