Brian Baumgarn Poet Quatrain

Blood Moon

The moon's eclipse hangs copper red
against the heavens, dark as lead.
Its face bears missives from the skies,
and secrets kept 'neath burnished eyes.

If omen, portent, sign of doom,
or bard of vague and futile gloom
why send man warnings in the night,
proclaim such edicts while in flight?

We gaze perplexed decoding glyphs,
from dark, obscure, prophetic myths.
Your course arcs through the endless deep,
blood-red enigmas yours to keep.

                               Blood Moon
                               April 2014

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Richard Lamoureux April 1, 2015 at 8:31 AM As poets I think we look for signs everywhere. At the very least we end up with some interesting poetry. This certainly meets that criteria. Brian Baumgarn May 19, 2015 at 12:57 AM Sorry for not replying to you, Richard. I am still finding comments that I didn't know were there. Yes, whatever a person believes, there are signs and indicators we see along the road all the time that end up, prophetically, coming true. Have a good one.