A series of poems by Beccah

maiden

the maiden of the moon often stares at me as I look out my window, perched in underwear, bathed in blue and stars. i whisper solemn truths to her and she hums a wicked response, she claims my agony. the nights are cold now, her and I have not bickered in some time, the moon goddess does not seem to mind. she is swept across dance floors at twilight, and bashfully behind the sun at dawn. she cowers behind a force much larger than her every day except one every ten thousand years. on nights when I brave the cold, she sweeps light in a line from my neck to my chest. i often choke beneath such hidden beauty, my tears stripping me bare. the moon goddess, the maiden and I, we are the same. we often hide when the sun comes up, cowardly in face of such bright power. i have not truly seen the sun in some time, but I'm told the sky is still blue. I'm told he still smiles on all the rest of you, leaving children kissed yellow in crisp air, cold for just a while longer. i am told he waits for me to be able to divide my time between him and the lovely, dancing woman reigning over his neighbor. soon, i hope to see them both in the same day, a lovely day perhaps, when this cold has passed and my mind returns once more to my body, stealing another hateful day, another lonely night away.