Colors of 'stil de graine' clothing Moon
passing 'cross the Earths Northern Lights
comets dance vociferously by the Archer
pointing his arrow at the mauve lit sky.
The approachment, stage one, a prism,
paragon, peerless, otensibly permeable-
to the eyes of astronomical entities,
the passing, opaque, still as death;
planetary metamorphosis from white
to blood red...An Eclipse? Not tonight!
The spark of the pomp soon abrogates,
as Father Galaxy takes his staff in hand,
running it through the Stratus clouds,
initiating silvery moonscape;
torrents of rain bleeding and blighting
the event the same from each vantage point.
Mother Nature is awakened by this,
and swears to the celestial gods-
that revenge for this shalt not come soon
'til the passing of yet, another Blood Moon.
©Frank James Ryan Jr./FjR
MMXV-All Rights Reserved
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem