Death of the Moon Gods

Soon the moon will be swallowed by gentle clouds
and snow will begin to fall over the valley.
though hidden, the moon’s magic will still reach you,
provoking dreams, disturbing and macabre,

of sad Appalachian music, loves lost
and loves turned toxic, the stuff of Irish ballads
and B grade movies. Dreams of lostness
and battles fought in ancient temples

that leave you exhausted in the morning,
and glad for the every day pain of living.
Glad too of simple things, your cup of tea,
a warm fire at your feet, A cat curled in the chair.

These are the things that ground you,
far less fantastic perhaps than moon made madness,
but unlike the strange dreams of the night,
these do not fade. You can touch them

and they do not fade with time,
but grow more real, rendering you more powerful
that the strange moon goods
that do their best to disturb your morning, but fail.

About this poem.

Full moon last night. And I had the dreams to prove it. Waking up was a very good thing.

Tom