"Evermoon (poem)" by Crista Whyte

Blessed be the child,

the Dreamer and the Night,

high upon the scraper’s ledge,

eyes down with tainted sight.

Standing thin against the wind,

a statue to shadow the Evermoon,

hairs blowing like intertwining snakes,

foreshadowing a time too soon.

Small heart clutched in sadness,

the child’s feet stuck to stone,

malnourished, graying hands

quaking to the bone.

A world in heavy darkness,

the child is the only to see

that the Evermoon is fading –

tides fading into sea.

From another world of future,

the child can only pray,

frozen to the scraper’s ledge,

of a dawn without the day.

Blessed be the child,

the Dreamer and the Night,

eternally standing high above,

eyes stricken with solemn fright.