Ian Jobst

Rookie - 107 Points (October 14,1999 / Oxford)

Eighteen Moons - Poem by Ian Jobst

Eighteen moons, grey and gold
through hills and plains of old
eighteen years have swept right by
eighteen suns til one must die
the eighteenth moon stands on the brink
but with a cast it starts to sink
the celestial primordial of long ago
has changed it's course and begun to slow
so eighteen suns begin the chant
for at last darkness is scant
for in the light the darkest cringe
evil dies on our golden fringe

Comments about Eighteen Moons by Ian Jobst

  • Rookie - 120 Points Amanda Laurent (5/23/2013 6:37:00 PM)

    An enchanting poem, well done! I especially liked the idea of the chanting suns. (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, May 23, 2013

Poem Edited: Tuesday, September 10, 2013

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