“The Moonlight Cries” is a lyric narrative blending confessional poetry with ballad-like repetition and elegiac tone. Its central theme is the burden of bearing another’s trauma and painful secrets. The voice is a first-person listener and confidant, someone to whom the moonlight has “sworn” her secrets. The speaker oscillates between tender witness, helpless chronicler, and mourner. Structurally, the poem shifts between rhythmic quatrains and shorter refrain lines. The repetition creates an incantatory effect. The final stanza introduces unresolved mystery, suggesting that some wounds resist articulation, even by the one who lived them. The imagery grounds the ethereal pain in physical, almost noir detail. This poem was written for the novella “A Shattered Cup of Doom,” and being newly produced, it has not yet been assigned to a chapbook.
“THE MOONLIGHT CRIES”
IX.
the moonlight swore me to her secrets
i guess to test, but nonetheless
i hear her
and getting something off her chest
a haze of menthol cigarettes
i hear her
the moonlight told me,
that september,
about a day she can’t remember
how once upon a time, forever
the mothers arms, the soul surrender
what, by god, in moonlight shown
passed away from all she’d known
abandoned, set adrift, alone
what, by god, in moonlight shown
i know because she told me so
the numbers, names, her every tear
i could write a book about
the things she wanted me to hear
the moonlight cries, a child estranged
the darkness of that day remains
what wind aloft might drive the rains
even she, herself can’t say
X.
the moonlight swore me to her secrets
i give my best and nothing less
i hear her
her heartbeat staggers in her chest
a shimmery star amulet
i hear her
the moonlight told me,
that october,
a horrid tale she’s not yet over
how once a stranger got to know her
a raving stranger got to know her
and what, by god, might a heart do
iron fisted, torn, abused
overdriven, insane, bruised
what, by god, might a heart do
i know because she told me so
the numbers, names, her every tear
i could write a book about
the things she wanted me to hear
the moonlight cries, a maid insane
the darkness of that night remains
how many tears might lift the stain
even she, herself can’t say
XI.
the moonlight swore me to her secrets
she draws the curtain to confess
i hear her
pandora opens up her chest
that they might leave her heart to rest
i hear her
the moonlight told me,
that november,
how the savage ravage rendered
her with child of her offender
with the child of her offender
at night the scorpion, it stings
nine months more, she bore these things
beloved baby unbelonging
and the cuck who cut her strings
i know because she told me so
the numbers, names, her every tear
i could write a book about
the things she wanted me to hear
the moonlight cries, a child estranged
the darkness of those days remains
how deep the cauldron of her bane
even she, herself can’t say
XII.
the moonlight swore me to her secrets
and dumps her mess with no regrets
i hear her
she lays a hand upon her chest
and by these truths she does attest
i hear her
the moonlight told me,
that december,
the fire smoldered down to ember
since her man demand she sever
the bastard child bond forever
a baby born, a babe like she,
a baby born and then set free
what kind of hell behind her be
why did, that night, her hand touch me
i know because she told me so
the numbers, names, her every tear
i could write a book about
the things she wanted me to hear
the moonlight stares into my eyes
and darkness dominates the skies
so what awaits beyond today
even she, herself can’t say
III.
the moonlight swore me to her secrets
and shackled to this dark request
i hear her
spinning gold, a treasure chest
of circumstantial evidence
i hear her
and so she told me, and so she lied
she told me she told him goodbye
i saw what i saw, but still she denies
and so told me, and so she lied
what, by god, is wrung from right
how many tears to blur the sight
the fates pin stars upon the night
distant so, can’t taste the light
and even though she told me so
she has lost my trust, i fear
i keep her basted in my doubt
the things she wanted me to hear
the moonlight cries, a witch ordained
she roams the darkest depths, unchained
what good a man, de-balled, de-brained
even she, herself can’t say
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