The Man Who Ate the Moon
The Man Who Ate The Moon
O moonlit dance
on milk white skin,
Like a pony's prance
'cross twilight, dim,
Flickering, perchance
on loves dark whim,
For her, romance
but not for him.
O shadows embark
in dreamless sleep,
Like a lunatic's mark
in corners deep,
And she shall spark
loves light to keep,
Yet lost in the dark
his heart doth weep.
O heart, wax and wane,
the night endeth soon,
'Tis love, a hunger pain,
upon his bed, is strewn,
What woman wouldst feign,
feeding madness on a spoon?
And what man, lest insane,
wouldst eat the dancing moon?
© RJVHorton2016
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