BLOOD OF THE MOON

The moon’s blood through veins of solitude flows,

Nocturnal prowlers suckle on its scent,

At solitary voices’ poignant advent,

Motherly wind of the night proudly blows

embowered in whose womb haunting lights glow.

The day is reborn as darkened remnants

of shadows’ cold pillage, silent descent

of which on isolated souls bestows

hope’s wistful visions or horrid nightmares.

Lunar blood clots thus healing daylight’s scars

Yet embraces the frigid hue of fear,

Cold, ebony loneliness from afar

Forges freezing hearts that melt into tears

to wash away the rot of emotional wars.