The Moon

From The Quill

I had sworn. I had sworn I will never write about the Moon.

It did. It made me gasp at its beauty each time I looked at it; filled me with endearing wonderment for the silver it spilled; had me looking for a braveheart who had the courage to bring it down for me; 
I kept looking,
I kept running,
I never found,
I never wrote.

Picture Credit: Pinterest (Hometalk.com)

A deep black cloud, the wrath of a thousand thunders, scents of far-fetched rain-drenched soils, and me… I sat under the sky- naked, poisoned, cloaked, and redeemed.

Magic for the hearts who wander, set camps at nights, travel afar in the days and wish for homes at dawns; magic unbound, magic unfound- the magic of the phases of the Moon.

It waxes and wanes, grows upon the darkness of each heart, only to fade away later.
Sorcery for the lone…

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