She's just a figure in the moonlight,
A beacon in the darkest of nights,
Who sings like a soaring song-bird,
And speaks like a cunning black crow.
Her hair, streaming down her neck,
Past the bed with no apparent end,
Is a rushing cascade made of gold,
Becoming a mine of many galore.
Past the secrets she seems to keep,
Is a reason for the key she sees,
'Tis not for the treasure that many seek,
Nor the one beneath her thick oak tree.
Between barriers, she seems to tease,
Those who cannot see what she can see;
An impending doom across many isles,
Passed the snake with a crossbow arrow.
In her eyes is a twinkling dream,
And passed it is a raging beast,
Untamed and wild, sick and cursed,
Uttered only what she could,
"I'm just a figure in the moonlight,
A beacon in the darkest nights,
They've sought to take what was mine,
Now I'm the one thing they cannot hide."
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Poems
Poetry"The universe kissed the stars, who birthed a galaxy of new beginnings." The only way to express beautiful and cynical thoughts is through the delightful invention of simple, and yet complex, poetry. My poems never end, have no defined theme and st...
