A Poet’s journey

the full moon looked famished
on this night of autumn lust

the mountains, less provoking;
almost eclipsed,
under the marble veil that
quilted a picture of our Author, masking
it’s own beauty

the seedy white vapor
claimed us all
but our eyes still talked of stars
and our lips,
of silence

we could still find poetry,
our pens still bleed the black
of our moon-sick fibers

we would die,
like the lilies
when the tart breeze
would not bend

but our death,
was never stone deep

we would always rise-
webbing our way
through somber textures

with one eye open,
to a breach of a
lighter dusk

by SilentWords
posted on 11/04/2009