Buried moon, buried moon Who to talk about at noon When dreams are plundered by light And powdered in gold and charcoal dust. Crescent fairies are sad in the rouse and at falter to surmise the scanty slumbering traces that…
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Buried moon
Tagged with: iron poem, Iron poetry, Iulia Halatz, my poems, poem, poetry, reposting an old poem
Posted in Iron Tales, My poems, Wordsmith
Posted in Iron Tales, My poems, Wordsmith
“Language is not like the sun,
heating and scorching
but like the moon
keeping secrets
and the arcane magic of the night
throwing stars
in the lilacs’ claws
till dawn.” -Iulia Halatz
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