Beneath the Weeping April Moon

A haunting tale, a bittersweet refrain, Love’s embered ashes, haunting heart and brain. Forsaken for a soul deemed more refined, A wounded spirit, tempest-tossed and blind. Moon, spectral witness to my soul’s despair, Your silvered gaze, a phantom’s haunting stare. Here, tears like rivers carved in lunar sand, A desolate heart, a withered, barren land. Can madness bloom in reason’s barren field? My spirit, a wounded bird, its wings concealed. O, Moon, your glow, a mournful, silvered sea, Where shattered dreams drift aimlessly. A cradle once of laughter, warmth, and grace, Now echoes chamber of a lost embrace. Your light, a dagger piercing through the night, Revealing shadows, cold and desolate sight. A prisoner of longing, hope’s frail art, A captive heart, torn asunder from the start. Can stars betray, or is it just my mind, A twisted maze where sanity’s confined? I search for solace in your silent gleam, Yet find but echoes of a vanished dream. A phantom lover, haunting every breath, A phantom life, suspended in the death Of what once was, a paradise of yore, Now barren wasteland, forevermore. Your fullness mocks the emptiness inside, A cosmic mirror, where lost souls abide. I yearn for dawn, to break this endless night, Yet fear the sunlight’s piercing, cruel light. So let me linger in your soft embrace, A mournful specter in this mournful space. And when the morning comes, with its harsh glare, May shadows shield me from despair.