full moon
moonlight on my face.
falling further from grace.
i feel unlike any man.
i can doo what no one can.
my body stretches
and writhes and pulls.
yet i feel no pain.
everything i see is alive, not dull.
but only now, when moon is high,
do i see the wings,
the things that lift me to the sky,
the ones that help me sing.
they sing of nights
so forbidden
they make the parson cry.
they sing of days
cold and hidden
waiting for the sun to lie.
they sing of nights
high and glad;
the nights i was with her
they sing of morns
torn and sad;
of when i had to stir.
This poem was written by Artemis Fowl III on Jun 01, 2007.
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