Tuesday, November 8

Nightfallen

The moon is a sickle in the sky
Crying star-tears, she follows me home
Around the hushed sounds of leaves
And trees and things
A verdure I have never known

For I am in my ivory white tower of mind
Always alone
She hears my thoughts and bows her head
As the four walls of night press in on me
And pull my heart to parts unknown.

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