Sickle Moon - by Tisha

Low on the horizon, only a sliver of light

painting the sky in tones of black and white
the city apparently fast asleep at first sight
the cobbled stones silent witnesses to my plight,
Echoing the emptiness I feel tonight

Searching for you, always just out of reach,
I ask myself: "Is feeling lost only just a figure of speech?"

Or am I simply driftwood on a deserted beach
rejected by the sea like an empty bottle of liquid bleach?

Admitting to the deep-set burning desire
that could so easily simply mis-fire
ready to explode like artillery fire
my sanity balancing on a high-strung wire

Oh sickle moon, without any offence,
Disregarding all disciplne and commonsense
help me find an effective self-defense
for my mental healing to commence
the quest for understanding is immense.