Face Shades with The Moon
It came to me as a vision
out from the winter cold,
to my belief
I find it to be real.
On a night
with the moon pale
as the river dipped in silver ink.
Before is the forest
bared to soot and ash
reek numb and loneliness,
while streams of mists
flay over my eyes,
just a flicker of the hand
hinders at its touch.
I’m draped in a feathery cloak
and the rest is shadow
except my face,
it shades with the moon.
Gesturing behind myself
a murder of crows
face to the mist
with warm radiance reflecting,
one perched
its juicy red eye leveled with mine.
Ahead, figure with scents of reapers
scale to the frost covered trees
and decaying grass,
stems of their claws
burn ever slowly to rot.
They’ve stolen the face
of dead old men,
hollow sleepy eyes fixed on me.
Limping wave, the crows descend
into a feathery whirlpool,
watching each fall.
Fade out into morning,
walking through haze of drunkenness,
a crow on the porch
drops a red sun marble.
Kyle Garon has grown up in a small town, South Lake Tahoe. While growing up didn’t know how to express himself, finally finding his talents in poetry. Everyday his passion keeps on growing and never gives up.