The Pull of the Moon
My soul
Ebbs and flows
To the cycles
Of the moon.
There is a
Bittersweet longing
When it hangs full
In the night,
A heartache
Both exquisite
And tortuous.
The urge to howl
My soul-needs
Becomes almost
Too much to bear
And the beast within
Threatens to
Break free
To run through
The wild night
In search of
Completion and
Fulfillment.
Copyright 2015, Kat Micari
Kat Micari 