The moon

The moon

Hungry though we must sail. 

Some shores ahead we desire.

Freely we battle over desires and borders.
Ontop oceans our fragile spirit sail

Forced into sweat, sudden sight of sand.

Now hope lift by this sudden land.
The moon set, perhaps the voyage has ended

or some malignant malice claimed.

Shakes and snakes, rivals and ravens.
The sun arises perhaps, our spirit leaps

in motionless supplication.

Great full from the brief pause of anxiety.

Frail bones, gray spirit, set down your hook

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