Dead Moon

There exists a not much spoken about, awkward time-

A sort of limbo-

Between a recent bad and an impending good. 

This is an ominous period of life,

Where in, future prospects of exultation and true happiness

Turn dreadfully black. 

In the minds of those succumbed to this mythical phase,

It seems as though the sun falls down

For a seemingly infinite eternity;

The moon’s once so effervescent, white lights falter and dim,

And are soon lost within the consuming skyline;

The clouds wreak further havoc,

As hope previously created when the eye meets up

With the opportunity-breeding sky vanishes.

The birds and their once uplifting, sing-songy tunes

Undergo a terrible transformation into darker, somber swan songs

Foreseeing an inescapable tragedy that will surely hit

And affect us now, forever, and the time past this forever. 

 The once white horses that roamed boastfully

Through the open prairies will stop dead in their tracks,

Turn an ugly shade,

A gray of steel-heartedness, before falling to the ground

To become decay. 

This is a time of drowning:

Inward thoughts plague the mind,

The chances long gone taunt,

The hopes buried in the backyard fail to surface,

And people look at themselves

With disgust and utter disappointment. 

 As the tunnel’s end of this stage appears,

There are two roads, two options for the self-appointed victim –

Escape into an open light,

Or forever be stuck in the darkness.