Phantoms Of The Moon
Approaching the end of the day,
shifting shadows scurry away;
as cobalt skies morph into grey.
Scarlet and crimson rivers run
as red bleeds from a dying sun;
day ends defeated; night has won.
As buzzing vampires start to bite,
mosquitoes usher in the night;
a taste for blood, fueling flight.
A cricket chirps a high-pitched song
by stridulating loud and strong;
calling for a mate all night long.
And brisk breezes set leaves to stir,
tickling them till they softly purr;
laughing with the wind, as it were.
An evening chill cools the night air
as unblinking eyes start to stare;
peeking from shadows everywhere.
Nocturnal demons widely strewn;
are merely phantoms of the moon
or the haunting call of a loon.
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2015
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