#gibbous - Hello Poetry

Of serene eyes that follow gently the illicit pill she could not let go it was heavy as the waters pulling her inside serenading her with an estranged voice coming from within — her minimizing the desire to let it out as the sun quiets down and the gibbous moon exhibiting itself at night, resisting the waves occurring — as if it loathed her whole being of her justness and the absence of these causes her grieving and the sirens waltzing, talking through an absentminded eye eyeing her soul finding love that seizes it but hers were two feet and one mouth to breathe in even in all shades of blue, she can get a glimpse of the dark hue illuminating the downside of the ocean pulling her, wrecking her soul. Redemption does not lie — humoring her with plainly just truth craving for the applause of the moon only observing the depth of the ocean eating the once alive soul of her saving her last breath, chiming in with the conversation, she once had with him. It could have been nice the resistance he once had — to throw himself out to the beauty of his light that shed her whole body he once was able to have and he stayed there, eyed her the whole time being eaten on the lonesome of the night for he himself, shading all the blueness like a requiem for the dreams she kept on having like a composition giving life to new generations, he was still on a token and a curse, and he let her be — in all shades of blue.

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Jul 11, 2022

Jul 11, 2022 at 5:21 AM UTC

cordelia

In All Shades of Blue

Of serene eyes that follow gently the illicit pill she could not let go it was heavy as the waters pulling her inside serenading her with an estranged voice coming from within — her minimizing the desire to let it out as the sun quiets down and the gibbous moon exhibiting itself at night, resisting the waves occurring — as if it loathed her whole being of her justness and the absence of these causes her grieving and the sirens waltzing, talking through an absentminded eye eyeing her soul finding love that seizes it but hers were two feet and one mouth to breathe in even in all shades of blue, she can get a glimpse of the dark hue illuminating the downside of the ocean pulling her, wrecking her soul. Redemption does not lie — humoring her with plainly just truth craving for the applause of the moon only observing the depth of the ocean eating the once alive soul of her saving her last breath, chiming in with the conversation, she once had with him. It could have been nice the resistance he once had — to throw himself out to the beauty of his light that shed her whole body he once was able to have and he stayed there, eyed her the whole time being eaten on the lonesome of the night for he himself, shading all the blueness like a requiem for the dreams she kept on having like a composition giving life to new generations, he was still on a token and a curse, and he let her be — in all shades of blue.

42

Amazing moon Different phases Which one is the best Any guesses New moon hides and rest Humbly shifting the limelight. Crescent is shy to boast, That's a beauty, of course. Half tells truth, Nothing is absolute. Gibbous is fun and spark Full of hopes even in dark Full moon is admirable Revealing all, including flaws.

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Sep 5, 2020

Sep 5, 2020 at 3:30 AM UTC

nalinee

Beautiful moon

Amazing moon Different phases Which one is the best Any guesses New moon hides and rest Humbly shifting the limelight. Crescent is shy to boast, That's a beauty, of course. Half tells truth, Nothing is absolute. Gibbous is fun and spark Full of hopes even in dark Full moon is admirable Revealing all, including flaws.

14

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.

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Mar 10, 2018

Mar 10, 2018 at 3:59 PM UTC

th4nkyoub3n

I Cannot Map The Night

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.

13

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

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Feb 10, 2017

Feb 10, 2017 at 8:30 PM UTC

wes-noneya

Lonely Each Sunset

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

21

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.

0

Mar 10, 2015

Mar 10, 2015 at 12:39 AM UTC

mel-harcum

Dear Luna,

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.

18