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Hour of Night


For the moment passing,

fearful and somber,

waning moonshine shone.

Slowly my touch shall wander,

along your hair, to your brow bone.

Alone, afraid but joyous,

our sunshine arrives at dawn.

But the waning moon won't disappear,

until the night is gone.

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tearkneee

Writing poetry happens to be the way for me to live happily. Oregon, 17. I play guitar, paint, draw, play video games and eat.

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