The moon calls the pristine sea-water,
Which in turn, reaches to the sky to answer.
The wind sings of this sultry exchange,
While the poor rocks,
Constantly thrashed by the falling tides,
Can only silently sigh.
– Maya Desdemona
Nocturne
Sweet Nocturne,
She needs not the light of day,
Nor the labours that do not pay,
For with her she has numerous nebulae,
That keep her at bay.
She is oft mistaken with coldness and death,
But in her darkness one finds a hearth,
A truly limitless rebirth,
Yet one that blazes with solace.
It needs no light
And does not burn too bright,
So as to hurt your eyes
And feed you with all-encompassing lies.
For sweet Nocturne is Wicked
Man’s veil,
Though the many layers of her beauty
Enclose many in pain,
Those lost souls always searching for their way
Will always find themselves in that dark haze.
– Maya Desdemona, Arsh.
The Moon
The moon sings its soulful song,
Singing it to us all.
She dances with the joyful tides,
Without a care, at all.
Her moods of whimsy
Never fail to astonish or amaze.
Ever-changing, ever-evolving,
Yet always so steady and constant.
– Arsh
Luminousis 