Sickle Moon

It glinted against the cool blue of Sun’s last light

A slender curve, quite razor sharp

The fine inside edge glinted in the night

That rose from the mist of black fenland soil

It had all the beauty of the assassin’s blade

Come to slit the throat and let in chill air

To let all blood drain as from a goat

I shivered, surprised at its first quick slice

My heartstrings severed by the cut

It was so swift I felt no pain

Except at the truth

We’d not meet again.

.

CLP 26/12/2019

Published by

Christopher Perry

Liberté, Equalité, Humanité