Bitter Moon Poem by Dennis Go

An evening out with myself.
The works of the night's been idle.
Star-filled skies view silence
With tranquil dreams of vice.

Creepy winds doth blew my ear.
Fear - the vast aura of mind.
Shadows spill darkness' cup
Of wickedness' demise.

Plainly seeking her still,
The love I had confide.
Out in the dark, had I seen her?
Out there, her form, out there.

'Come closer dear'. A voice speaks.
I recall her words last time.
The moon seems bitter at this binding stage.
She's dead, but her form deceives my eyes.