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Silver Moon Through the garden paths they move silently Two forms hidden by the night. Carrying black roses in their hands as they pass beyond the moon's light. Their satin gowns brushing the ground; the only sound an occasional breath. Creatures scurry away at their approach, fearing certain death. Within the darkness a glimpse can be seen of evil in their eyes, and somewhere in the distance a wolf howls; Moaning with its cries. Within the silence one speaks, "The moon reflects off your face sister, and it is evil I see lurking there." One turns to the other and smiles. "Tis the love of the hunt which makes me look this way. Evil flows from the silver moon, not I," she whispers as the wind blows her hair. © Amy Matheson, 1999 * * * * * *I am the moon on a winter night. I am the fleeting memory of candlelight. I am the frost that covers the morning in white. I am alone as a dove when it takes flight. Yours were the arms which held me so tight. I am the chill when you crawl out of bed at sunrise. I am no prize. I am the glacier that kills the earth. I am an existence of no worth. I am the loneliness in your tear. I am the cause of all your fear. I am the whispers you never hear. I am all you once held dear. I am the shiver running up your spine. I am the one who once called you mine. Feelings change and we leave things behind. I am not always kind. I am the breath on your neck. I am the chill upon your skin. I am the hardwood floors you walk across. I am the midnight wind. I am the blackest pearl in the sea. I am all no one wanted to be. I am cruel because I am lost. Don't you understand, I strive for happiness at all cost? I am the eye of the storm. I am the rain that brings the sleet. I am the snow that falls from the sky. I am your tongue when you tell a lie. I am your clothes when they are wet. I am the winner when you lose a bet. I am the words people use to cut you down. I am the thought in your head when you frown. I am the anger when you are mad. I am the dream you never had. I am the nails that claw your back. I am the control that you lack. I am your lucky charm when you have no luck. I am the ground where lightning struck. I am the story never told. I am me. I am cold. © Amy Matheson, 1999 |