The weathering moon looks dewy tonight.
What's different?
What's changed?
Could it be because the dusty clouds
Hanging low among the willow trees?
Or is it the shattering silence beckoning to be mended?
I can't place a finger on it,
But something is off.
Not off but on?
Not on but glowing?
Not glowing but burning,
Burning brighter than that falling star
You saw ages ago under the blanket of the night.
I can feel it in my bones,
This sense of love that surges throughout this marrow
And into my nerve endings.
Just tell me, what made me this way?
Tell me moon, who sold you?
Who stamped craters into you and left you
To battle this eclipse on your own?
Why am I to blame?
YOU ARE READING
Late Night Feels
PoezjaThose intense feelings that tangle their arms around your body and try to eat you alive, all wrapped up into this collection of poems. Enjoy.
