This Chalice of Night
It beckons, this chalice of night,
brooding beneath the limpid film
of gossamer and stolen light.
It preys, this chalice of night,
on satiations longing need
to quaff, to quench, a darkened seed.
It’s curse, this chalice of night,
it’s emptiness a lunar arc
that starts and ends as fluid dark.
It holds, this chalice of night,
a taste of sanguine revelry’s
moonlit curse of devilry.
©1/20/2022
The Chalice of Night Poetry Contest
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