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

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s