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Artist
The Daughter of the Red Moon
The sky was painted in the blood of stars,
Healing the night of its invisible scars.
She stood where the silk of the river flows,
A secret that only the golden moon knows.
Her dress was white as a page unwritten,
By the ghost of a memory, softly smitten.
With hair like ink on a writer’s quill,
The world around her stood breathless and still.
Gold flakes fell like the tears of a king,
To the silent song that the shadows sing,
A crimson dream in a frame of night,
Burning forever in the pale moonlight.
