The moon's quiet sorrw
They, without a trace of shame,
painted their hearts with the crimson blood of their lovers’ lips.
And I… my only share was the cold blue of the moon,
spilled carelessly,
like a tear severed from the sky,
upon my cheeks.
Those drops sank into the ridges of my heart,
painting my eyes with a lifeless gleam,
and the moon’s quiet sorrow wound through my soul
at 3 A.M.,
before I surrendered to sleep.
I was fragile beneath the blade of the sun,
and the conqueror of stars
that dared not draw near.
Copyright © Hannah Nyxnah | Year Posted 2025
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