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Writer's pictureVivien Yap

The Mourning of a Crucial Crescent



I need the moon to stay

when the sun is done praying,

filtering through pages of ink,

teaching men how to read.


You see.

The moon,

even though I hate to say it,

reminds me of you.


The crescent shape,

curt against ink,

taught me kindness at the

bottom of liquid love.


Breakwater, my love!

I have cried over you so many times

my tears are the sea

yet you are still a cavernous moon.


This ache in my heart

I first felt, has not left.

You used to be mine.


Always the night

and you come

hand in hand.


But now I am


lonely. The sky is dark with

clouds I cannot read. I only

hope for words to break

this rust over my chest.


I will not let love wake me up in the morning

because if you could leave like carnage,

then I could fall asleep by the side of the road

drunk as hell, my vision wasted on


a regrettable night,

but still,

not quite like you.


How could I call you the moon?

When I searched and found no sun in my time.

How could I belong to you?

When every night passes for a new sky.

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