DK (11-22-1952 / Batavia, New York)

Getting Drunk With The Moon

Darkness upon the waters,
a plague upon the sky,
the tired old moon rides
low above the barren trees.

His edges remain intact.
In his life, he has touched
far too little.

When children ask him,
'What are nightmares made of? ',
his reply is inevitably the same.

'Real fear takes imagination.'

The sky becomes a field
of burning stones.

User Rating: 4,8 / 5 ( 10 votes ) 2

Comments (2)

This is brilliant David, I love moon poems! Read my one 'called Strangley shaded moon'. I have read a few of yours just now and like them alot will continue to read in the coming days. Don't like the short ones though, sorry, I hate short poems it's like an effort has not been made! ! :) Séamus
Now, this is a moon I could how-ooool at! Masterful effort.