Increasingly, she troubles me
I'm seeing her lately as light blue
In an auto-suggestive state
Sometimes with a tinge of red
A Queen's Guard helmet on her head
And I can't keep track at all
Of the hours of her rising
Her weeks of wax and wane
Sure, you'd assume
That a man on a planet with just one moon
Would be capable of following her plane.
Yes, she troubles me
Even when she shines on me
Makes me feel like an alien
Misplaced in the city, sensing at best
That I'm not where I was born to be.
The moon can be dangerous, too
She can snare you with a tide
And pull you under, reach down low
Breaking up your wedding vows
As you slowly sink and drown
In dark pools of reflecting eyes
Not even wise
To try to write a poem about the moon
Her smile is concealing bad intent
And she’s jealous of her font of light
Just waiting for something to condemn
In the affairs of boys and men.
*****
Click here for more poems by Richard Morgan
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