Broken moon, we are the same, you and I,
waning, as our repeating cycles crop
time. Listen to the police siren cry
below, chasing fools unwilling to stop.
Lunacy, this endless race to next week,
next month. The rush smothers verse. Absent breath
signals its demise and your pallid cheek,
again, turns from that sonnet’s sudden death.
Be kind, silence the chimes, please, slow this night,
then, instead, I will offer you an ode
that honours inspiration, docile light,
my pen will plod on as hours erode.
But moon you're too still, too simply bitten,
While I fight for each rhyme left unwritten.
*For Russell Sivey’s Moon is my Muse Contest
Written Feb 28, 2013