My Mistress, the Moon
From mine chamber, breathless and perspiring upon the bed,
I spy you there, out my window, looming overhead.
Your gaze, a silent arbiter in the night,
I cloak my naked shame, to veil my plight.
Reigning atop her celestial silver throne,
While I, lie with a lover not of my own,
Broken vows flee like ravens in the night,
And you, casting shadows of guilt in your light.
Glistening spectral tendrils adorn the wet cobblestone,
Where I and my lovely paramour have dared to roam.
With discreet footsteps, we clandestinely meet,
And you, with your enchanting freckled glow, how sweet.
Soft beams gently caress her alabaster cheek,
Lost in each other’s eyes, passionate and weak.
Reflected in her amorous gaze, I see your ethereal glow,
A witness to our sinful secrets, that only you know.
Beneath the silvered shroud of your romantic gleam,
Our love, a clandestine waltz in a moonlit dream.
In intimate whispers and fervent glance,
You’re the orchestrator of this forbidden dance.
The conductor of a symphony of sin,
Our affair, a soiled tapestry, unraveling from within.
In my dark secret chambers, you are the phantom spike,
The harbinger of this dreadful plight.
From my bed, to the window’s edge, I drew near,
An inquiring voice, “What troubles thee, my Dear”?
“’Tis naught, my Darling, j’st——the moon’s, cold stare”,
All the while, a laden heart, wrought with despair.
For my spirit is torn between duty and desire,
Engulfed by passion’s flames, intense blue fire.
From my window to the heavens, I plea my discontent,
To the pale blue eye above, I solemnly lament:
“O Moon, in thy spectral light aglow,
Release my soul’s despairing woe.
In thy celestial realm, I lay bare my sins,
Where shame deepens, and remorse’s tide begins.
Cast thy luminous gaze upon my plight,
Guide me towards redemption’s forgiving light.
For in thy ethereal embrace, I plead release,
From guilt’s relentless grip, let me find peace.
Lead me, O Moon, through this sinful night,
In thy mercy, grant my spirit respite.”
Beneath your fading glow, the whispers of love wane,
As I bid adieu to this fleeting masquerade,
Sun cresting the horizon, she reaches for the door,
The time has come, farewell my muse,
my lovely paramour.
-Edward
Copyright ©
Edward Wraith
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