It is the moon that protests.
Whether the man in the moon or the round ball of jealousy itself, I know not. But I know that moon has found his vengeance in thievery.
Each time I look away, he steals my moments. He skips the seconds of time and just takes the minutes.
Minute after minute he gingerly carries away, behind my back. I never even see those quick and greedy fingers or hear the sly footsteps. Every now and again though, I think I can feel his cold, clammy breath. But I never catch him.
Before I can even fight back or react, he has already grabbed large handfuls of my hours and has carted them away. I know he must be burying those moments somewhere, but for me, they are lost forever.
Looking back at the moon, he glares. He looks right back at me with his beaming pride glowing coolly over me. He knows that he has won.
Receding away, he sinks to hide behind the mountains where he can smugly count his winnings. The moon has won again and I have no control. I never do.
My time lost, his ego fed.
Amazing poem anonymous Jayne... I'm assuming you wrote this, you don't have to admit that too me, I can just assume. But I love it. Nice work, to who ever wrote this ;)
ReplyDeleteI did write it. I feel funny putting what I write on here, but I plan to add more sometime.
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