Knife's Edge
The new moon
is of a chilled northern night.
It is unseen as it fluxes the sea.
On the Midnight edge
of this sea there rests a graveyard,
whose ethereal voice
is hushed by the sterling glitter
of the Winter sky. The graveyard's
solitude is a wish that slips away.
The tombs have missel tints,
host the souls of dark storm clouds
that block the deep heavens,
who knife the tumultuous
oceans with searing streaks of light;
who hold the Moon until it is full.
Copyright © Jennifer Cahill | Year Posted 2021
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