06-28-2014, 10:18 AM
This needs to get better, but being as it is mine I feel like I'm being too delicate with the dismantling that brings that betterness. The second poem I've ever done. Tear it up.
Cradle moon 'O cradle moon,
hanged so slight up in the sky,
watching not with such intent,
don't you think that we ask why?
Math and science some will say,
drapes your lash and lid so low,
but I know a lover's tryst,
halves your glancing silver glow.
Like a lady you'd not gaze,
on those entwined 'neath your light,
yet too thrilled to look away,
from the secrets of your night.
Cradle moon 'O cradle moon,
hanged so slight up in the sky,
watching not with such intent,
don't you think that we ask why?
Math and science some will say,
drapes your lash and lid so low,
but I know a lover's tryst,
halves your glancing silver glow.
Like a lady you'd not gaze,
on those entwined 'neath your light,
yet too thrilled to look away,
from the secrets of your night.
“The writing of poetry is a chancy business, it's currency solitude and loss, its tools coffee and too much wine, its hours midnight, dawn, and dusk, and unlike other trade the hours asleep are not time off.” - Keith Miller, The Book of Flying