By: Spencer DiSparti


You are not the goddess

I thought i knew; nor the huntress

Of the moon.


Your youthful face now stained

And scarred by the pain

Of what you really are.


Straying into that solemn night

I saw a sadness come to light;

A fairness shone through the veil,

A hidden beauty soon revealed.


And in the white-wing’d dawn

I spread across the sky,

Cupping your silver breast, long-

Ing to carress your star-lit eye.


On a bed of clouds displayed,

Like a tender flower, you lay;

A crescent smile soured.


As the dim light reflected;

Your cold eyes rejected

The ardor within my soul.


And in our star-crossed gaze

I saw in you the dream decay

Before our eyes could save

Their virtue.

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