The Apple

The apple sat on the tip of the head Never wavering Nor tipping to one side The apple remains in place Till the gunshot is fired The apple hangs back The shiny surface infected by the tiny bullet and falls to the ground.   Thanks for reading my poem! My work today is inspired by…

The Moon

Her crescent shape lights up the sky Her angled body curling over As if she was wrapping around a baby. Her skin A luminous white. Borrowing the sun’s light Until he wakes up from his slumber. She rules the night Takes care of her subjects. Every night, she is changing. Melting, then coming back out…