Dark Moon

Sometimes I like to write a poem, though I’m probably not very good at it. Anyhow, it’s good exercise. This is my first attempt at something that doesn’t rhyme

Dark Moon

Deep rooted thoughts,
they’ve lain in dark
a dreary span.
Glints of silver,
blinding sunbeams
soon distant through
ebony clouds.
Again it’s gone.
But staring down,
determined,
there are Shadows.
And on the ground
they flutter dim
like bats in shape
to drink, letting
one drop of red
blood hit shadowy,
parched earth. And
would the dawn come
with thoughts of black
on a Dark Moon,
which drinks down Blood
like a fanged bat?