Poem: Of the Coming of the Moon

(This was written LONG before my werewolf series began.  I was a freshman in college.  Yeah, it was that long ago.  Still caught by the moon, though.

Actually this poem was written the same night I wrote Pork Roll, Egg, and Cheese.  Yes, I do remember random facts like that.  )

Of the Coming of the Moon

The unexplained desires,
Of the coming of the moon.
As soon as she hits the lights,
My eyes begin to swoon.
I cannot believe the wonder;
I howl at the very sight,
Of the coming of the moon,
For she comes tonight.
I heard the wolves crying;
I hear the owl’s hoot;
I cannot believe the wonder,
Of the coming of the moon.
I am bewilderly ecstatic,
Luna caresses my own pride.
I sit and ponder of her,
And I cannot tell a lie,
Of the coming of the moon.
I revel in her prime.
She breaks the very bar,
That she put above my head.
Surely this isn’t wonder,
Of the coming of the moon,
This must only be the strength,
This simple childish desire;
The only thing that’s perfect,
Of the coming of the moon.
I dare not answer my own question,
About this lovely wonder;
This wholesomeness desire,
This overwhelming appeal,
Of the coming of the moon…

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