National Poetry Month: Day 15

Contempt, is the river moon.

Hiding behind the shadows of the gods,
although not deliberate, still they
obscure his love.

Whilst not being allowed to play,
the banjos produce a cacophony with the cicadas.

He waits
and hides.
His time is precious,
he does not get to spend every night immersed
in the natural seduction of these southern surroundings.

He peeks and stretches
through the clouds,
trying to hear his friends.

Nature calls out to him
the hoots of the owls,
alert and searching for their prey.

The river rustling gently,
never stopping,
constantly rushing against the stones,
caressing the soft silhouette of the embankments.

Branches swaying in the warm, slightly windy summer nights.

Usually the ground is aglow with the moons' blessing,
shadowing the small ones and  illuminating the proud
tenacity of the night.

However the moon has lost its battle tonight.

He does not get to come and play with his earth.

The clouds have decided he has spent his time stipend
with the earth, and he will wait for another
night where he can bathe all of nature in his love.

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