First sliver
A blade hung high
Cutting the night
Into keep
And release
Waxing
A white wound
Opening wider
Spilling its light
Over everything
I tried to leave intact
Full
The moon a hard eye
Unblinking
Catching the truth
I kept trying
To outrun
Waning
The sky thins
And I thin with it
Shedding names
Rooms
Skins
Like old light
Dark
The moon disappears
And something in me
Goes with it
Not loss
But a clearing
A place for the next
Bright edge
To begin
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Author:
Anthony Hanible (
Offline) - Published: February 27th, 2026 06:31
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 4
- Users favorite of this poem: Anthony Hanible
Offline)
Comments1
Beautiful and so identifiable it is a passing of the beauty of what is awaiting the beauty of what is to come. Lovely
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