The Moon Hath Not Returned

I look up
as the night
is laced through
the long fingers of the forest.

They reach up
and caress the stars.

There are the gushes
and gleams
of joy.

The merrymaking
of love
in nature.

And then the wind
flirts with my mane.
It satisfies its lustous curiosity
in just a touch.

How petty.

But I wait on
for the Moon.

I must tell him tonight
how I love him so dear.

I must howl
and surrender.

Come to kneel,
and no longer
be asunder

from my love —

The Moon.

But the whispers stop,
the whorewind drops
dead
into the night.

Dark
into the night.

Where the Moon
hath not returned
to love me.

And an icy heart
shatters inside me.

I ought to profess my love tonight.

As I should have
much earlier.

Comments

  1. Shubham
    14th June 2018 / 4:22 pm

    Good blogs and poetry

  2. 16th July 2018 / 8:25 pm

    Very well illustrated!

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