Atop a cliffside
I stand
My Staff
Clenched tightly in my hand

The wind swirls
Blowing the clouds
Across the face
Of the growing moon.
My cloak whips in the wind.
I stand still
Waiting for the right moment

The moon needs
To be full
To make the speaking right.

The thoughts
Clamor around
Inside my mind
Waiting, ready
In my mind
Ready to be spoken
And all things be made right

Finally the moon shadows
Fall over me
It has arisen
Full and golden.
I open my mouth
and speak
The words that will make
All things right.

Image^© and Poem^© by NyteShadow


Poem and Image are copyrighted and not to be used without the expess permission of author.
Absolutely no Commercial use is permitted. Copyrighted Tallevast 1997