Night Moves

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She is the source of all induction,

Silver slipper of a moon.

With subtle power of great seduction,

Causing the strong to tremble and the powerful to swoon.

We are helpless to her hazy glow,

Casting shimmering slivers of desire on all who dare to tread below.

Her misty light serves quiet yearning, igniting the taste for forbidden fruits

Ever stronger burning.

She is a crafty serpent knowing all our wants,

Flaunting the untouchable, unrelentlessley she taunts.

You see she is intoxicating--lowering all our inhibitions, beckoning us to follow,

And as if possessed, we heed that call, unwary of the course of sorrow.

Blindly we let her lead us by the hand down whatever path she chooses,

And for every ounce of fleshly pleasure a thousand times is what each of us loses.

Her mystery is what entices us onward down that wayward path,

Material creatures that we are never forethink the aftermath.

This woman however is no stranger for we all do know her well,

She is your heart and flesh and want whom sin and treachery befell.

Coaxing, coquettish, our strongest weakness, unheeding of our strenous plight.

Dormant when night becomes the day, aroused when day begets the night.





Author's Notes/Comments: 

I wrote this in my sleep back in 1994...17 years old, my senior year in high school. I remember looking out the window and seeing a crescent moon...what a friend of mine used to call "God's Thumbnail". The next morning, this poem was scribbled on scrap pieces of paper on my nightstand. I lost the notebook where this poem was written years and years ago. Last week, I decided to see if I could find and order the book where it was published in 1995. Success!! This brings back memories.

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