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The Tormented Moon
The.isolated moon in the far arc of her epogee,
As she searches Earth's surface in cold winter's hemisphere,
She bites her tongue of protest of what she will never be,
And throws sharp knives of jealousy into the atmosphere.
In the cold moon's distant musings, her echoes can't be heard,
And but for the crunch of snow, silence waits for morning sun.
A blizzard has filled a reservoir, and so needs prepared,
Yet moon added sparkly diamonds to selfish pleasure's run.
Winter moon shivers with knowledge that her days will end,
And a yellow moon will rise during six months of the year.
The anguished, tormented moon whose dark murmurs now portend,
She will vanquish the yellow moon, and once more reappear.
Copyright ©
Hilda Greenhough
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