Moonshine - Poem by Bella Luca
Go, I told them. I told them go, I don’t know why.
Pallid are our faces; cotton swabs and sheets of paper with not a single word,
Through the shredder. Through his lips; dry as sand; as scorching feet.
Together, we form a precipitate; encrusted with wrangling thoughts;
We dare not speak. Not now, not ever;
My head holds too much.
Comments about Moonshine by Bella Luca
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye