Raymond A. Foss Poems

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The moon, a day before full,
hung suspended low to the horizon
above the tree line
hauntingly, disquiet settled on us
It wasn’t the buck moon this day
No it was a Blood Moon,
a harbinger, a foretaste
when the sixth seal is broken
before the awful power
of the judgment.

Sky still and ashen gray
thick with clouds
that would spawn thunder
and fury
Thin enough for the ash to yield
to the blood moon
Round and terrible
unsettling and intriguing
like passing a car wreck
looking for the twisted metal
praying for the people

July 11, 2006 21:39

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