“Yes, in the predawn black the slim slip of the waning moon.”
At night my terrors are watered by my tears
every passing second diminishing me
I know not what the dawn will bring
the fire that fed on the familiar wood
is now all but a mere shadow
along the bare willow boughs, wind sighs softly
am pared beyond recognition
my breath is slow tortured release
the fire-folk I relied upon for company
have all left. Leaving my slim sliver self shivering
I want to shine fiercely like a flame
does before being extinguished. The predawn black
promises the pinkest dawn in its wake
my destiny is to wane quietly.
Written for dVerse poetics. Today’s host, Linda, says: So today I am sharing with you lines from eight different pieces in the book Songs of Unreason. The challenge is to pick one line and use it as an epigraph for a poem inspired by the line. You may write your poem in any form you wish.