the moon is out and glowing
with fangs of silver light
it comes clawing at me
all thought the night
the moon is a wretched beast
a haunting, vacant soul
calling to me, whispering to me
forever more.
the moon is a dying whore
left on her knees
sees nothing she wants
wants nothing she pleases
the moon is a tempest bleeding
life into the rain
sacrificing her light
for the sun's wicked game.
YOU ARE READING
Goblin Garden (My first collection of random poems) PUBLISHED!
PoezjaThere is a shadow lurking on the edge of our perception, in the worst of our nightmares. It is us. It has always been us. Welcome to my first collection of poetry. Here you will find a mangled mess of dark, eccentric and sometimes hopeful poems...
