Moonman
She is Captive of the Moon
Who is this man in the moon? I owe him
grief for the grief he’s inflicted on me;
my precious Azure I lost to him. She,
in quicksilver beauty bathed as though
blushing moonlight herself, was taken
by him, made captive of the moon.
I gaze up each night to see her there,
bound in ropes that do not bind her,
and yet, listless, she pines not for me;
she longs to be the moon that he
may love her. I long only for daybreak
and the blood of sunrise which heralds
night’s death and the paling of that
fiend who stole my heart’s treasure.
Filed under: Xenoneoclassicist Poetry, call to arms, creative souls, ekphrasis, fantasy, myth, national poetry month, poem, poems, poems about paintings, poetry, poetry revolution | Tagged: ekphrasis, poem, moon, Luna, NaPoWriMo
