The Sickle Moon

One mystic blue night dead still, I’ll steal the silver full moon, break it into sharp shards, and stow them in the backyard under the shadow of the creepy cloud. The dark devils will enter with fiend my anguished heart beating vengeance, hit hard by the moonless dreary darkness, and make my boiling enraged blood turn into lacerating incisive lancet. The sinister scarlet elixir in my veins the night will drink like wine, the shining sequined full moon lost, it’ll make a black one hollow, darker than the dread of doomsday. When the impious wolves will slash the neck of the frozen stillness, their ominous bark in the chilled air will shred the nocturnal chastity, it's time for moon plucking from sordid shadow. They cunningly ensnare in an instant the naive malleable minds unaware, skillfully wrap with mute trance the innocent hearts trapped in the travesty tangle of love. I’ll slit open their deceitful throats, slice the reveling saccharine lips with the harvested sickle moon.