A Ball of Hate Hurled at the Moon

They say it can take everything
Our deepest secrets,
Our oldest resentments

King of the wild night,
Shimmering eternal watcher
He has seen the oldest sins

All night casting a faint glow
Just enough for us
To wash ourselves in

They say the moon remembers nothing
That it forgets all of our debts

As if a clean slate is
One the oldest and best promises

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s