New Moon Poem by Jessel Jane Tevar Toring

The moon, half dead,
gave an eerie glow,
consoled by clouds,
she laid with motions slow;
poisoned by her pain,
she looked down at me
buried her soul in her head,
covered by clouds' canopy-
only to rise again;
to rise when the sun rises,
to set when the sun sets.
To be close to the sun's glare,
she crossed the sky with her.
to be seen in silhouette against her reign
she stood a midst her pain
in front of her sun...
her only sun.