At the mercy of the moon

Each month
she waxes and wanes
and my moods change,

flickering like shadows
over a great wide sea,
moments of torment
rising up from the deep.

Being a woman,
having this curse,
this gift for life,
- and subsequent pain

which brushes like flotsam
against your bewildered shore.

But look closely,
my love,
there is treasure to be found
and it is yours for the taking
if you so desire.

©Michele Darnell-Roberts