The Moon’s Tears & The Sun’s Sorrow

Upon a verdant meadow, lay the twisted roots of an old willow tree.  

Beneath the light cradle of its leaves, a lone couple lay, overlooking the misty sea.  

One was a woman who had been sculpted from the moon’s waning glow,  

she had skin of the softest silver and hair as pale as fallen snow.  

Within his bloodied arms she wept, her soft cries sounding through the flowering glade. 

Her chest, draped in lace and silk, had been sharply struck by the steel of a jagged blade.  

The eyelids of the luminous woman lowered with the gentle pull of a lasting slumber,  

her darkened dreams echoing with drifting visions of illusion and wonder.  

While she gradually declined in the dead of night, a man woven by sunlight cradled her in the cold.  

His amber hair carried the color of a rising sun, his pained voice quivering as her fate began to be told.  

Beneath the willow tree his love resided, her porcelain skin growing ashen and pale. 

As he crouched over his moon’s hollow form, the sun’s final sound was a quivering wail.  

By Rachel Williams