Crescent Moon, a poem by Theodora Oniceanu at Spillwords.com

Crescent Moon

Crescent Moon

written by: Theodora Oniceanu

@YumeAkira

 

There is no light where they descended,
There is no future love to come;
The need had faded with the grey dead,
With lofty might a crescent outcome:
Moon!

You say it’s nothing that you did,
For centuries reflecting sunlight.
You say it’s nothing what you bleed
Yet berries find their air to breathe
Into the night…, into the night
They breathe.

The woods are silent as the secrets
Of moonlit crests and peaks of pine,
Along the path into the forest,
Lithe walks the mountain man.

He strides in steps to meet the shadows
Of ancestral belief in life
With light that’s carried in his heart he
Lits up the path for The Moon to shine.

Proud, tall reminder of her brother,
The lover she had never had!
Son of the Sun-Gods, lofty father
Of two girls and a growing man.

With close cold guarding rays of moonlight
His steps go strong into the dark!
Inside the caves of the grand mountain
He loses contact with her smile.

But deep in darkness he is finding
A son in one eye, different man,
Offering flame of outer world where
Silence has gone bright, wildly mad.

His lamp is turned to face their troubles,
They fight together for a while.
“The beast is down! Let’s go home, Father!”
The voice spoke kindly to the man.

Through caves and pine woods they find pathway,
Pacing their tired hearts they laugh,
Into the night their voices raising
A song of moonlit naught.

“You say it’s nothing that you did,
For centuries reflecting sunlight.
You say it’s nothing what you bleed
Yet berries find their air to breathe
Into the night…, into the night
They breathe.”

Proud, tall reminder of their Father,
The Sun that shines each day to bring
Their lives to meet the might of angels,
The wrath of gods with demon-friends.

Down in the valley ‘cross shines brightly,
The tomb lies quiet as before
Guarding the house with her decision
To stand for love forever more.

There is no light where they descended,
There is no future love to come;
The need has faded with the grey dead,
With lofty might a crescent outcome:
Moon!

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