Hunger Moon

Like marble,
A cold, empty plate,
The late winter moon
Jagged pieces gleam
Through stark branches
Over a lean, hungry world.

A thin wind turns,
Through withered, bony fingers
Of dark, skeletal trees.
Ancient voices whisper
Murmur, plead.

Explore posts in the same categories: Astronomy, Culture Myth Legend, Poetry

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4 Comments on “Hunger Moon”

  1. slpmartin Says:

    Ah a taste of the surreal in the images provided in this fine poem.

  2. elisabethbee Says:

    I often think of tree limbs as akin to bones. I see them reach and move … Now, however, in summer they are more solid – only solid like a cloud with so many tiny holes …

    Thanks for the nice imagery!

    Elisabeth Bee

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