Harvest Moon

A new hunger arises under the Harvest Moon’s horizons,
to her eyes and her heart, our greed for her surprises.

Watching, waiting, wishing there, this man finds solace truly rare.
Playing, biting, holding her hair, this man finds redemption anywhere.

He harvests from life, a simple pleasure,
in a final stare, a measure of terror.
With his knife, stole from her all she could spare,
a gift for him of all he did care.

Stoked campfire, carved, crafted in leisure,
this man finds comfort in the warmth of a flame.
A light in the night, with darkness he will fight.
A flight in the darkness, eases his pain.

In seeking gain, for what we keep,
within our yield we must peek.
Sow crops in burning heat,
passion renders this field truly weak.

Life offers reward of bounty too few,
for our vision is gifted a blinding skew,
that even with the gifts we receive,
life’s colorless hue, will poison the eve.

Watching her child grieve over her corpse,
wailing and shouting, confronting her lies.
A promise was made, hoarse tone and all,
that mother would return to child at home.

The cries cast out all about orange hued fields,
to the campfire, sparking excitement in eyes.
An itch felt the man with blood on his hand,
a stitch sealed his sorrow, echoing cries of the land.

Tonight you’ve felt passion take rise,
as black ink lines your eyes,
past cheeks, trailing to where words release,
mouth tainted by black,
quivering lips where trails meet.

Lips once met with succulent grape,
violet gleams of juicy streams
tasting of your wildest dreams,
a comfort life offered.
Not good enough it seems.

Red torn seams, of Amethyst gleams,
pools of purple, highlight the scene,
a razor pulled cross your thighs,
free screams from black lips, in fearful cries,
as lips meet darkness, your final prize.

In a pool of your comfort, a harvest of choice,
you’ve stolen from life, your true gift of voice,
Reaped only to be sown, what in you was grown.
A part of you dies, and it dies alone.

Stolen from her child, to gift this man’s smile,
a child sees stolen all what was worthwhile,
defiled her corpse in a theft most vile,
this woman who’s life became just one to the pile.

Stolen from life, our most precious friend,
what in the end would already have seen lend,
Stolen a comfort, seeking to mend,
a pain that would for only a while offend.

Under Harvest Moon’s horizons, as was always fated,
to her eyes, and her heart, Harvest moon has been sated.