The Moon: A Poem
A Murder of Crows
Something about the moon that night
stole the thoughts from my head
and filled me with unceasing dread.
It called to me with a ravenous voice,
its silver shadow crossing my face,
and drew me out into a place
where cars lay parked in gleaming rows,
like coffins covered by falling snow.
Three crows on a pole whistled and screeched.
It seemed they were calling to me.
I raised my head and looked up at the sky.
The moon had grown and was reaching for me
with silver hands and a gaping maw.
While the cacophony rang across the lot,
I ran and ran to the thud of my heart.
At last, when the noise had gone,
I sat on a bench in the midst of the snow
and watched a man across the way,
a man in clothes of gray.
When he turned, I saw he carried a scythe.
I cried out and fell on my knees
and grasped at his feet.
“Death!” I cried. “Death I’ve seen! I’ve seen — “
At that moment I woke in my bed.
And the moon’s waxing shadow
fell on my head.
After my “debut” horror effort “River Water” (which I didn’t realize was horror at the time I wrote it), I thought I’d do a poem emulating the works of Edgar Allan Poe, whose mysterious death I wrote an article about. This is a poor emulation, but I hope it’s entertaining all the same. It gave me a chance to play with rhythm and a bit of a more traditional rhyming scheme.
And thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this poem, I’d really appreciate if you left me a tip on Ko-fi so I can keep creating as much as possible for you.
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