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Ben Kaw Mar 2018
The timid moon obscures itself
in shadows of intrigue.
Every night you wax,
a striptease of your soul.

The moon looks over all the stars
reflecting the light of an absent sun.
The cold night glows with wonder.
Though you are smaller than the stars,
the twinkles are minuscule in my eyes.

If you are the moon,
and the moon is made of cheese,
then why am I
cheesy so squeezy.
3/10/2018
Wes Noneya Feb 2017
Lonely each sunset, another night arises forlorn
Darkness spreads across thy valley of emotions drearily desolate
Lofty mountains of sorrow and pain soar in solemn scorn
Thy heart, still as death stern as fate in resolve will not remit

Lonely each sunset, warmth fades, hope flickers, near extinguish
A vicious cycle; dark emotions drink well the dark of emotional night
Of cold liquid fire, bitter sweet ambrosia, cold fuel to warmth’s wish
Emotions an’ desire forged anew, reborn with hunger burning bright

Lonely each sunset, deep within new hope and hunger burn as one
With gibbous moon piercing that black velvet of thy shadowed heart
Hunger drives, passion craves, freedom sings, pain that binds undone
Fell thy arch spirit, new and old emotions run wild quite a start

Down freedom’s road, long journey before thee, pass from outcast land
Still within old wounds not healed still express
Emotional apparitions, arising when thy dream state is at hand
When slumber rules, no escape for thy heart’s abysmal loneliness

Under crimson moon new passion and hope to bloom in full
If tended well, a hybrid, of passions thrall, not that sorely sought
Salve or bandages, but full rebirth, a tender pull
Ethereal strings; stitches sealed; catching and caught

~Wes Noneya
Mel Harcum Mar 2015
I only prayed to the moon after it rose beyond
my window, the white sill a frame for waning
crescents and gibbouses--milk-drowned gods
dripping stars as they climbed skeleton branches--
some nights resting behind flood-heavy clouds.
People say the moon has a face, but
I have yet to see it sneer at my sins even as it tastes
my ocean-drop tears, evaporated into sky-bound veils,
brushed along the shadowed craters ...

The moon itself bemoaned imperfections in midnight
wind creaking branch against branch until I woke
slow from sleep--sad light staining my walls
pallid, pale as my own skin, glowing in muted
television shows left running while I dreamt
the moon spilled a star between my ribs--
dim luminescence radiating warm,
and the star, seeping through my pores, thawed
the ice I had prayed to melt in the first place.

— The End —