soiled

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  • Moon

    soiled

    The moon is rising
    the moon a beautiful red hue
    red like the blood on our hands
    the sky dark all around
    dark like our shattered hearts

    The reflection of my face
    the look of fear and hate
    The wanting of trust and love
    my tears on my face
    my tears that taste of the sea

    The moon is high above our heads
    The moon reflected in the water
    the clear water so pure
    Pure like a child
    a child that will someday be soiled
    soiled by the hands of time

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    Poetry comes nearer to vital truth than history.

    Plato (BC 427-BC 347) Greek philosopher.

    RinaRickman’s Poems (6)

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    A long forgotten memory 0
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