Today, I wanted to share with you one of my Horror Made original poems:
Strands of Moonlight
Hanging in the corner of the dusty window
you can find
hidden in the shadows
a weaver so clever and so talented
that she can take the moonlight
and spin it’s soft silver into string.
A string so light
that if it were to touch your skin
you would feel only a thin caress
of coolness prickling the nerves
as it brushes by.
This weaver of wonder
it nearing her end.
She has changed her patterns of moonlight
from listing dreams
to a swaying bed
ready for her eternal sleep.
So enjoy,
for perhaps the last time,
the strands of spun moonlight
drifting in the dark.
Horror Made 