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Hunger Moon
Crazed
Like marble,
A cold, empty plate,
The late winter moon
Fragments.
Jagged pieces gleam
Through stark branches
Over a lean, hungry world.
A thin wind turns,
Curls
Through withered, bony fingers
Of dark, skeletal trees.
Ancient voices whisper,
Murmur, plead.
Crazed.
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21 months ago
Great evocative poem.
I found the following lines especially thought-provoking and visually appealing:
"Through withered, bony fingers
Of dark, skeletal trees.
Ancient voices whisper"
To me it spoke of the timeless nature of winter in its harsh,chilling nature.
The linking of 'Crazed' at the beginning and end was also a nice touch.