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Fullmoon.



The December 12,
Beneath the glow
of the full moon's radiance,
Wrecked, stained reminiscences lay,
Dull in the brilliant full.

In a gentle night's breeze
With a sense of rage howling,
The fragmented selves
Averted their eyes
Warded off their thoughts
Not to catch others’ off guard.

A soft red jumper, jersey, and a beanie
Wreathed in laughter,
And the other sad eyes
Giggled with a bright smile,
The play was decent
None would be suspicious.

Yet only the brightest full moon witnessed,
the caved in souls.
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