literature

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Literature Text

It is the moon in our eyes,
The dreadful light.

A tremor runs through the dark,
With the uninvited guest.
Please sir, will you not leave?
We have been careful, so careful
To build a sanctuary of the dark.

The passersby came in the dawn,
And asked, “Have you not slept, child?
Tell us where your light is buried
That we may give you your rest.”

It is the moon in our eyes,
The dreadful light.

I was asleep when they came,
Now I wish that I could stir,
I concentrate on the mirror
I see the moon is hidden there,
Is that a demon or my mother calling?
© 2017 - 2024 MartenHoyle
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