The moon plays tricks
first black then grey,
making silver circles on the bed posts
and the clock’s tired hands,
undyingly still.
Darkness lies close to my face
heavy and bold.
A frail voice flutters
like a thin veil,
it is mine.
A shadow moves against the moonlight,
whispering loud.
Warm breath on glass
chills my heart,
yet sharpens my thoughts.
I dare not touch the frozen floor.
Ronnie Kerrigan
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-moon-plays-tricks/
