To see the moon turn bloody the other night, my witch and I took a late walk, and as we came across a part of the forest which I always loved to see in nights enlightened by the moon and feared deeply in the dark nights of its absence, I admitted to her how those dark nights always made me wonder how the world could truly trust the moon to come back soon and not leave us all alone in the darkness. “Well”, my witch had responded with a giggle. “Having the same kind of tea every night makes believing in this a little easier.” And her laughter had echoed through the night. “And besides that, how can we be alive with probably letting go of this?”
In a moonless night
between the trees of the forest
there is a whisper unheard
and a heartbeat unfelt
there on this path
which I must never take
in a moonless night
because waiting for its shine
and for its silver
to cut through the black
reminds me of how bold
and of how pure
I put my trust in you
without having let go yet
and in a moonless night
on that one path between those trees
too deep within my forest
I could dare
to question all my trust
I still have put in you.
How can I be alive with letting go of this?
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Mistress witch writes 