Beneath a Reaping Moon

Halfway up the Hangman’s Hill
or maybe halfway down,
a broken house with empty eyes
stares blankly over town.

Dark deeds of old have taken toll
and none dare visit now
‘cept she and I, beneath a sky
solemn as her vow.

Larunda’s daughter, flaxen haired,
and Mercury’s wild boy
lie close as roman candles dip
and shadows writhe with joy.

Intertwined in sweet repose,
two hearts beat a single drum.
In darkened room, by reaping moon
a spark flicks its frenzied tongue.

Halfway down the Hangman’s Hill
lie broken, charred remains
of devotion, rare, a love laid bare
cleansed in crimson flames.

Ryan Stone

First published atΒ Black Poppy Review, July 2017


11 thoughts on “Beneath a Reaping Moon

  1. OMG! They had a suicide pact? They burned themselves alive in their hideout? Perhaps my interpretation is too literal, but it’s a testament to your writing that you can make us believe in such affecting, vivid scenarios with just a few carefully chosen words. 😊 Calling it Hangman’s Hill just adds to the terrifying atmosphere!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. There is a degree of introspection that overpowers the situation. You can feel that the speaker is purified and baptized, as the moon above takes the mature fruit and makes it her own. (p,s, maybe it is one of my skittles, want it back? πŸ™‚

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Wow! I love this Ryan! And the picture is the perfect accompaniment. You are a very good writer/poet. πŸ™‚
    P.S. Thanks so much for all of the follows today. I’m back on a roll with a bit of a different twist as of late. I just take it as it comes, in whatever form.

    Liked by 1 person

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