When Moons Are Gone

Sun is pressed
on a crimson
horizon of
the twilight.

Rain traps
the drought
of summer in
this every day.

Eyes don’t see
the failure
of time when
moons are gone.

Dragons spew fire
and I am on the
hot seat of
vulgar questions.

2015

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About chester maynes

poet, and a lover of music and books.
This entry was posted in Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

8 Responses to When Moons Are Gone

  1. Jarrod C says:

    Love this! Great work!

  2. Insach says:

    “Sun is pressed on a crimson horizon of the twilight.”
    You mean, like the one in the picture above?
    The pic just sets the whole mood for the poem. Great!

  3. welx says:

    “Sun is pressed on a crimson horizon of the twilight.” – I love that line.

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