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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Segment 1 Under the moon I do the darkest of deeds, To send another man to Heaven, I pick his pocket. As he ascends, I must pay my way For the boatman. Coins and locket. It has been two years to the day Since I have found myself Under that moon. I must confess, but to whom? Shall I be condemned by laws before The Almighty? I hear stories of a river north That listens to whispers And carries them forth. I must find this river and confess I must speak my truth And free myself. My chest weighs heavy as this Horse and carriage of remorse Trample me and perish. I reach the river, foggy in mind The sediment, thick with truths It runs with haste downstream. A whisper floats along the fog "Speak it below" I wince and nod. I kneel down, smelling the murk And mist, pressing my lips Against the surface. I lean further and drown my face In such cold, cold trust that My confession flows with haste. I speak immersed, beneath the cover Of such a moon, my secrets sink To the depths, swept by current. I fear this river is too well known That this bed I have sewn Wicked weeds have grown. I dry my face, my scarf now soaked This deed I have done, This confession I’ve spoke Drifts down stream and out of sight. Cloaked and muddied, I walk home this night. Segment 2 Cold is this day when the frost Has covered our fields And the river has slowed. The fish can be seen through the ice Feeling safe they swim Waiting to be snatched up. They tell stories of foul fish Tasting rotten and dead Though they are moments old. The youth love fish from the river, They eat it up until They have had their fill. They begin to foster illness in heart The devil’s sins begat man, and The girls turn courtesan. Where does this come from? Why has our river town soured? Whence has this evil poured? We eat fresh fish, and fresh grain Yet this evil is around again Always under this moon.
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