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when the moon turns to gold

did you see the moon turn gold
just over the horizon
just before the dark granite of sleep
took you to his breast?

was there a queen's ransom that
emptied your treasure room, did you feed the
hunger well enough with gratitude
to silence the marketplace? bang your drum
slowly and play the sitar with your saint's calloused hands,
passion is a fruit hanging from the tree
to know God in its aftertaste is not a cruel death

freedom is just a path from which there is no
escape,
its kiss pursing with dark red lips
stares vacantly from the mirror of every eye
insatiable with meaning

let me be your altar, let me be your sacrifice
let me be the knife that slices through all this
emptiness

touch me yet again.

Editing stage: 

Comments

a poem for a lover, but has religious overtones. It was very staid and chaste, yet made me think of romance. Nicely done. ~ Gee

There is value to commenting and critique, tell us how you feel about our work.
This must be the place, 'cause there ain't no place like this place anywhere near this place.

As opposed to yesterday's poem? I am a word slut. You know that.

Thanks for reading Sir Gee, I like your Avatar.

~A

author comment

Rather the picture I seen wee early hours was the moon with two halos over it. It was awesome and it struck me really good.

I loved this part of your write today Anna

freedom is just a path from which there is no
escape,

So true so true

Blessings to you
Mona

I enjoyed the images and metaphors but think "the dark granite of sleep" was a bit awkward...........stan

When it really does
Please message me,
I’m always looking for gold,
Even like Meccanas one,
Spelling be excused please,
Gold is all the value of dollars today,
I’m told,
As USA dollar slides beneath the horizon,
The moon will now also be sold
By Americans
As you say tis gold

loved

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