Moon-whispers

A Poem by L. Fenella

Nothing really comes to mind. It is what it is, I suppose.

Full moon, tipping out
Beams from its abundance
Drip, drop, drip
Falling, breaking, pooling
On the cracked and broken earth below
Spilling, trickling, streaming
Through ridges and grooves carved by acid bitterness
Wrought by the denizens of this lost and lonely world
Black as black and blacker, it seems, this spinning globe
In the dark empty of space and time
Moonbeams are pouring, speckled by stars
Sinking into the hard-packed hate, softening
Turning heads to the deep blue expanse
Opening eyes to the twinkling, winking dots of light
Whispering in ears and hushing lips
Look, the moon calls, but do not speak
Have you not heard-
A picture is worth a thousand words.