Buried moon

Buried moon, buried moon
Who to talk about at noon
When dreams are plundered by light
And powdered in gold and charcoal dust.

Crescent fairies are sad in the rouse
and at falter to surmise
the scanty slumbering traces
that led stupors into trenches.

The owners of the light
Do not know its might
and the pleasure of the sun
to astound and burn above…

Buried moon, buried moon
I want you soon…

As to play my feral dreams
around the all surviving tunes!

© Iulia Halatz

(Reposting an old poem)

Art – Buried moon by Edmund Dulac.

Sharing is keeping a part of me:

19 thoughts on “Buried moon

      1. epidoxdainewal1

        I copied it with your name (of course) and shared it to my Facebook. I don’t think I can share to Facebook from here. Normally I take a screenshot of your writing if it fits on the screen.

        Reply
  1. grumpytyke

    Dreams are indeed so often “plundered by light” but not by the gentle moonlight, surrounded by showers of stardust. They are what keeps our dreams alive, riding in so often quietly in your words.

    Reply
    1. Iulia Halatz Post author

      Thank you, dear Roger! 💜
      The types of dreams I put in words are two – the ones I see in a place surrounded by showers of stardust and warmed by the moonlight, and the ones I see with feet firmly on the ground. Both give quiet and whispering trips 🙂
      Give my best to P.
      xxxxxx

      Reply

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