Brightest light:
a layer of frost
on the moon
when I lifted my head
to search for home.
I dub thee Goddess Moon,
Patron of the painter’s boon
Mistress of the writer’s swoon
–
The world could circumnavigate
This trait, you call thy state
But they would only desecrate—
–
That holy word, this blurred
In bitter flight, bird
I am certain they should call absurd
–
But here you are, a smile
Resting yet upon the winds of wile
Of your fertile guile
–
Merest notion
Of my dearest heart’s devotion—
This world is not yet ready for your motion.
My latest contribution to the wonderful One Shot Poetry Wednesdays! Once you’ve had a look, check out some of the other One Shot Poets as well– they’re a skilled bunch of poets, looking to form a community and support one another. Enjoy!
Such sweetest nights!
The sun departs, the moon arise
But still the fire burns
As bodies shake and memories sway—
What is that taste
Which sweetens all the dreams
And brightens reverie?
Every time I close my eyes
The world is song and dance,
A mysterium of magic beats
And vibrant color
Swirling through the dance
Of human interaction.
Bright eyes
And soft words,
The whispers of the soul demand
All attention to the fore.
We’ve seen the mountains rise from hills,
Watched forests bloom from flowers.
We’ve seen the waters rise and fall,
And seen so many setting suns—
Such sights that you could never know.
We walked the world
With loving family, all—
We wandered plains and forests both,
Loved by Mother Earth.
We’ve seen so many moons,
Bathed within so many starry seas—
Yet still it seems our time has come.
In dead of night you wretches came,
Blazing rifles in your hands.
You killed our prey,
You drove us away—
What did we ever do to you?
We fled in our confusion,
But from you there was no hiding.
You tracked us down and shot us dead—
All of my beloved family.
We’ll never see the Moon again,
Nor the freezing of the streams—
The Sun is but a fleeting dream,
The Wind a fading memory.
Where once our noble howls rang,
The land now fades to silence.
I am of race by far your elder—
A brother you betrayed.
Perhaps you will regret
Once we are all no more.
Perhaps a tear will fall
When those children look to you
And with their glittering eyes they ask,
“What is that thing you call a Wolf?”