Blood Moon Rising

The black sky casts its shadow of doubt,
its tendrils of ink slithering every which way –
to places unseen, times unknown;
songs unheard.

1

Slowly, she ascends upon a throne of dusk,
wearing a crown of cumulus, an armour of false light.
Magnificently vicious, gloriously cruel,
and kingdoms fall to their knees.

2

Crimson is her stare, her reign of ichor begins.
She takes no prisoners and shows no mercy,
and yet they pine for her warmth, her fearsome embrace;
her irony.

3

And onward she goes, devouring the Sun itself,
a false goddess among the divine, a true demon among men.
Slowly, with every moment, there is a blood moon rising.

My time has come.

41

‘Blood Moon’
Watercolour on paper, 9.5″ x 7″

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