PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

There's a moon among the lightning clouds,
its light abreast the thunder.
I watch with sheeted wastelanders,
as still and vague as flickering shadows.
But there is no flame for their cascading,
nor a source for sight beyond the sky;
the moon a pocked and beaten widow,
whose fondest wish is to reflect
the sun's forgotten luminescence.
I watch with eyes all caked with sand
from a folklore fairy that I'd regarded
as nothing more than a tale to spin
underneath this lonely, battered moon.
I'd lend a hand to caress her cheek,
if she were not so far beyond me.