The last time, a flood.
Locked her up after that.
Been waiting for
fear to subside.
For tides to wash away
the bones, the death
I cooked from crushed hearts
bleached of passion.
That light just feels, feels
too bright, too strong,
a scorching wave
for a desert shore.
But I haven’t looked,
not since then;
where’s the key?
Ah, in her pocket.
All that time, aeons past,
I never knew, it was you,
just that cool light
on the dark water.
You’re only moonlight,
moonlight, after all.
I missed it in my shadow.
Now watch me glow,
and be thou whole.
© 2015 Joanne Sprott
A little inspirational, reminiscing, regretting but re-growing poem for a writing course I participated in (the pic was one of the prompts). Nice to have the Muse show up for this one. Thank you, Euterpe. 🙂