I am drawn like a moth to the moon
Pale shivers of light pouring down
Dark sky dressed in a starry gown,
The shadows respond to the way that I swoon
And play on the tips of my fingers.
Dark side out to the void of space
Looking to the hollow and old.
Silver, calloused, and cold
Showing only the brightest face.
The dead moon above all still lingers.
YOU ARE READING
Resting Place
PoetryA collection of poems that is more experimental and practice stuff than anything. I'll test out different forms and subjects, have a little fun with it. It'll be ongoing until I get bored with the idea of it. I'd like to hear what you think! Tell me...
