The moon is there
and yet we cannot see it
instead a grey black curtain
hangs its charcoal blush across the sky
impenetrable void
its subtle sheen is ominous
no word
it is an unwritten slate
for some anonymous scribe of night
if we could see the stars
their path describes its everlasting screed
in fits and starts of spinning light
such velvet darkness floats about
like some extraordinary cloak
of silent dust
Margaret Ann Waddicor 14th May 2016
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 2:04 PM UTC
The moon is there
and yet we cannot see it
instead a grey black curtain
hangs its charcoal blush across the sky
impenetrable void
its subtle sheen is ominous
no word
it is an unwritten slate
for some anonymous scribe of night
if we could see the stars
their path describes its everlasting screed
in fits and starts of spinning light
such velvet darkness floats about
like some extraordinary cloak
of silent dust
Margaret Ann Waddicor 14th May 2016
The whole sky really looked like the surface of a slate.
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