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.

Photo by Tisha