legend's last moon -

* I always felt like “Nessie” got a bad rap, being called a monster and a beast and all that, so I think this little piece of mythic imagery grew from that. I hope you enjoy. * ~ once, ago ... on a loch called Ness a young, shy, teary-eyed moon kissed the sun goodnight ... and blushed turning its reddened face to the dark expanse heaven-ward (so as to not betray its undying love of the day star). cotton swab clouds tickled rouge from its flushed cheeks dripping like crimson moondrops onto the lake's black-mirror surface kashmir Ruby gems of light that gently swirled then burst into a thousand shards ... the moon's red reflections dancing like flaming scarlet pixies spinning, twirling, glittering as the lake came to life the inky water melting, churning as a satiny bulk rose from the abyss a graceful movement of slow, curving grandeur, breaching immense in its mass and motive like Earth itself, come to life but smooth and sure, and lithe as wet leather a sleek, silky neck ... arched, and fluid as a Cobra but transfixed as if spellbound by a wood flute gliding soft and cleaving a knife wake ... like an Egyptian bark ferrying the moon god, Khonsu across the Nile … countless times throughout the centuries the same scene had played out under the cherry moon of late June but this would be the last ... no more would the ancient hulk arise for the solstice his weary old bones, brittle and sore - aged heart thrumming slow and weak in his barrel breast and his spirit, dreary and chill with all he'd seen and experienced ... the humans of his era - selfish and careless creatures - had stripped and plundered the land and waters for their own sake without regard for Nature or the elements no love or worth or thought given to the great sphere, Terra ruin thus tasked upon all they touched - even one-another … he could tolerate it no longer and his efforts to communicate their shortsightedness always ended the same ... badly with many of their kind trying to kill or capture him … he was done, as was his species now (being the last of his kind) and the hushed voice of oblivion whispered him ... only one circuit more would he make of Loch Ness's glass facade one last honor given to it and the burnished moon a wink to the Milky Way and a final breath of warm, earthly air - still sweet at times, despite man and his spoils then he'd slip tenderly into the deep, oily black of its reach letting the arms of eternity wrap his stately, time-worn bulk allowing the dreams of a better age and a friendlier world carry him to quiet, enduring slumber ... and the fathomless, watery tomb … below. ~ 1st Place ~ in the "Liquid Luna Lace" Poetry Contest, Chantelle Anne Cooke, Judge & Sponsor.