The moon is fading
once more, and I can't help but
wish to go along.
Composed during one of the dawns of despair.
o'er night's dark canal
the moon's bright crescent did sail
like a gondola
a sequential equator
Third verse before you depart,
5350 miles and six months apart,
for green pastures and a fresher start,
swapping the keyboard for an apple cart.
Take care while you are away,
coz this time it really is a land far, faraway,
new pay, new play and new place to stay,
perpetually missing her Kajang satay.
Drifting from your pack,
Don’t ever let ye courage crack,
Straddling a lumbering backpack,
We’ll wait for you to be back.
So go now my dear, I fare you well,
Whatever will be only time can tell,
Whenever you hear the animals yell,
They are just helping me to wish you well.
To be sad
Is to mourn over
With your crest
It means that
That's all thats left
You sure do
In the moonlight
For the moon
And it glows
To remember you
And tells all the stars
About your life
As your bearing
From its crest
Of a crescent
Lo, the waxing moon
eyeing on heaven
ups a notch high.
The higher it goes
pulls the tides more
down on the sea
the crescent moon sways.
It bows down and prays
as it sails towards
the locked away
heaven far, far away.
The sea spilling billow
floats the key
to the tucked away ally way!
This mornings moon was just about ready to bid the night sky goodbye
It's crescent beauty hanging on just long enough to spark the question why
Good morning, as I gaze upon its beauty and question its very existence
It disappears, on its way to a different skyspace, at a great distance
This thought is overwhelming, the moon never realizes daytime gazes
It skirts around the earth, being seen at night in its different phases
The beauty it has shared for years and years, just seems to happen
Without it, the night sky, would be just so, ... Blacken
Brian Hill - 2019#104
Inspired by (of course) the morning moon...
This poem is a bit different
Let me know what you all think
Thank you for reading...
i think i'm in love
with a man drunk on the moon
i think he's a wolf
I was severely bored when I wrote this.
the moon is gone
and the crescent my fantasy
for so long, never seeing you
the time has finally come
for me to have forgotten your face
when night is risen and moon is full
i imagine you there
your soft, beautiful face
gorgeously round and pointed and soft
the arch of your brow
and your wailing eyes
digging so deep into my own
that in my reflection yours are buried
formed from little craters and debris
they must be your eyes
i was crying the last time i looked at you
you staring at me, indifferent, remorseful
i am crying now, looking at the moon
it must be you up there
eight months and twelve days
i hate that i can't remember your face
and i mourn you still
just by looking up
to that same moon
i fear the day that i might see you again
that i may be reminded of your gentleness
that i may hear the nectar of your voice
i can never stop myself from you
can never hold back from admiring you
in my entirety, you, the moon
my only beacon, beloved anchor
but the moon is gone
and the crescent only my fantasy
Blessed are all the dreamers
who see the sky smiling
while looking at the crescent.