Half-Moon Poem by Mark Heathcote

An elapsing stage, suiting hoary, stars.
A rose shedding on a dark partition.
A young girl seated on old handlebars
Fears not, sharing a breathless omission.
'A half-moon' resembles a mixed blessing.
Where some see only a divided plane
Only black and white no coalescing.
The night is a palace, light sits in reign.
But it has always been a mixed blessing.
A truth, concord - between root and flower
That each has owing and prepossessing
One with the other, disagreement dour!
Destructive when one makes a lonely stance
Better - brothers/sisters' we all advance.