Circles
Inside the circle
Where we played as children
Careless of moon and tide
I stand alone
Savant of the starry heaven
Pursued by a disenchanted bride
The rosy moon
Her lilly white nakedness, a breast
Upon the wet and naked grass
The stars in ruin
And of the storm I have no love less
The sublime moment cannot pass
Outside the circle
The wounded hawk circles still
Aroows of the moon are made from quill
Copyright © L'Nass Shango | Year Posted 2012
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment