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Lunar Eclipse
The moon would be a dull, gray rock without the Sun's light.
An opinion would be a thought without one's voice.
A man would be useless without a purpose.
So, all the men that stand before me are nothing,
as they brandish their swords;
squeezing the hilt like my throat,
constricting the words from it before they're even spoken.
My men were tethered to Earth,
they tortured themselves daily for fleeting escape.
My luminous glow was their temptation, their envy.
As I was the moon;
a quiet beauty that spoke volumes.
My men chip away at my craters, their shadow swallowing the Sun's last rays.
I am now a rock;
Stoic, rigid.
Ruthless. Ruinous.
The light drained from my now-hollowed features.
A merciless wreckage pounded into rock, hollowed from its light.
Copyright ©
Ziya Momin
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