Hunter’s Moon
A poem
The night is dark, the air is cold
And depression fills the soul;
Ages pass, and eon go,
As dying seems to haunt the room.
An aura of menace
That creeps unknown,
Through the silent streets
Beneath the moon,
A poem
The night is dark, the air is cold
And depression fills the soul;
Ages pass, and eon go,
As dying seems to haunt the room.
An aura of menace
That creeps unknown,
Through the silent streets
Beneath the moon,
--
MPP friends writing about life, love, and everything else in between together.
My name is Nadia Davidson. I am an artist who enjoys writing about the process of making art, bullet journaling and self improvement www.moltenimaginings.com