Blue Moon
Still I cry.
Still my eyes bleed.
They bleed the blood of a father
Who loves his prodigal daughter.
But I suffer worse.
I know where she is.
I know I can't see her
Till the Bloodshot moon runs blue.
Like a mother separated from her
Baby girl
Snatched, ripped, torn from her
Loving arms
With only a thread of faith
To sustain her through the now
Unbearable months
Under the Bloodshot Moon.
Copyright © Jonathan White | Year Posted 2008
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