Shine On Harvest Moon Up Where I Die Poem by Glenn Bagshaw

I am the pyre of harvest moon
and in my lunacy I make
pale crater of your life so soon
and bake your body which I take.
View by my ghostly globe at night
Ray- silver arrows quiver trees.
When stalking you, it's sheer delight
to stay a shroud-white canopy.
Beware me, for I raise on high
damnation's surge to while you'll ebb.
I'm edge of light, that ice on eye.
I hang life in my beam-spun web.
My form fills skies, no half-moon's shame,
I'm high on crazed ways of my race.
Time's up or run right down-the same.
You'll be alarmed: old Hell's my face.
Your life maps moon-phase- oh, to dread;
it charts you (see graph D) as dead.