Array ( [sid] => 180249 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Hallowed Spaces [time] => 2015-01-09 23:20:25 [hometext] => Back from the holidays [bodytext] => The Moon rises high.
Vindictive,
It casts porcelain shadows,
Like a fan of knives.
Under its waxing and waning
I feel lycanthropic.
Trembling in its magnetic power.
Drawn away from my humanity,
Into a feral landscape,
Untouched, unencumbered by restraint or bias.
Salubrious this place.
Resting without presupposition.
I dreamt of her again,
She still waits for me.
Safe in the hollow of love we carved out.
A carbon copy of our reality. [comments] => 8 [counter] => 453 [topic] => 64 [informant] => deadreckoning1983 [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 0 [associated] => [topicname] => ambiguous ) Your Poetry Dot Com - Hallowed Spaces


Hallowed Spaces
Date: Friday, 9th January 2015 @ 11:20:25 PM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: deadreckoning1983
The Moon rises high.
Vindictive,
It casts porcelain shadows,
Like a fan of knives.
Under its waxing and waning
I feel lycanthropic.
Trembling in its magnetic power.
Drawn away from my humanity,
Into a feral landscape,
Untouched, unencumbered by restraint or bias.
Salubrious this place.
Resting without presupposition.
I dreamt of her again,
She still waits for me.
Safe in the hollow of love we carved out.
A carbon copy of our reality.

This poem is Copyright © deadreckoning1983


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