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Luna Moth (An Elegy)...

Updated on May 29, 2012


Who is it that calls--

Calls softly in the night?

Is it the rogue

Or vagabond wind;

That amid this early hour plies,

Its’ trembled whispers

To my uneasy sighs;

Lightly perched

Upon blood-bitten lips,

As now,

A softened, wavering,


Bears up the silence

Of the still,

Reaching out!


Through the valley of

The night—

Into my soul—

My soul!



Who is it that comes—

Comes silently in the night?

Haunting me

Between tortured dreams,

Of a time

Long since passed;

Whose visage

I must ever see,

In clear, blood-stained,


Wherein a memory, you shall

Always be,

Against the panes of destiny,

Tap! Tap! Tap!

Beats your cadence of blame,

Rolling back to me--

Back to me,

From your lonely grave,

O’er many years

Upon frost-tinged wings,

Aglow in sultry, silkiest lime--

Caressing the night

One beat at a time--

Faintly breathed

Against an empty sky,

Where sightless eyes

Grow wide with

The night,

Or is it fright

That I see,

Looking back through

The glass

At me,

Palely streaked

Against my glass,

Upon this good nights’

Eve’ning pass.


What is it that draws nigh—

Nigh in the night?

Cruelly hiding amid

The sunken shadows--

A visage glimpsed

Just out of sight;

I say then!

Who goes there--

Upon this good night?

Is it you?

Who in silent whispers


Gently fluttering amid

Your ashen glen,

As this cruel night’s

Solemn revenge--

Tell me then!

So I might know,

Is it you

Who schemes my

Darkest dreams?

And dances amid

This dying light?

Tell me then,

For I must know—

Know your name,

As I know my own,

Say it then!

So I might know—

Your name!

Your name!

I must surely know!


Who is it then

That goes softly—

Softly in the night?

Though I must confess

I think I know,

Have heard you,

Seen you,

Against my glass—

Nights before;

Amid a sickening glow,

Flutt’ring in the waning


Shimmering in a veil

Of darkest night—

Green and white,

Translucent light,

My ghost!

My love!

My memory! of that night;

Haunting my window,

My dreams!

My soul!

God, please God!

Don’t alight!

Let me go!

And return to the night;

For I mustn’t remember,

Won’t remember!

So white!

Your face,

Your cries!

I must ever hear,

Amid the echoes,

Of my troubled ears—

Calling down the corridors

Of my soul,

Wherein I must ever know,

The chilling cold,

Of a murderous heart--

Where my deeds now dwell alone!

Hidden from the sun--

So long ago,

Beneath the weeds

And cold, cruel, stones,

Of this window

Where I sit alone.


Alas, again,

I surely know,

Who comes to me

Upon this cruel night;

Face aglow with pale moonlight;

Tapping my glass

With softest hands--

Gently wrapping the past

In silv’ry strands,

Of Luna…

And her children,

Her children

Who know…


…What I know…

My tortured soul,

From where you rest

‘Neath my candle’s glow,

Amid your bed

In flowered repose,

You know who I am--

Just you alone!

And know what

I know—

What I know…

What I know…

What lies beneath the beaten stones,

Of the ancient hedge

Just below,

The somber glow

Of this old window…



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    • Romeos Quill profile image

      Romeos Quill 4 years ago from Lincolnshire, England

      I don't normally read the dark side but this one was well penned.The imagery seemed to lend weight to the verse,and evoked imagery from the film,'The Mothman Prophecies',which was released a while back now,starring Richard Gere.

      Have a good weekend,

      Romeo's Quill