Where the moon-silver spilled its whisper
we met — merely to listen but never to fall
while you had intentions, I was the drifter
a bumblebee flying too close to the walls
Your fingers a cobweb to capture or trap
with a softness of lips, I was under your spell
with silver-strings tied, to darkness was strapped
At midnight the bells of our towers will knell.
On butterfly wings you left me alone
a carcass, a void, the smear on your dress.
Your darkness, my shroud and the stones
in your bulwark has been made into one.
Moon was our witness but not our judge
We were to blame for this pestilence touch.
Today Sanaa hosts dVerse poetics with images from the painter John Atkinson Grimshaw. His picture are wonderful images of darkness that for me feel very close to the season that is coming.
September 29, 2026
This is absolutely stunning, Bjorn! I especially admire; “Your fingers a cobweb to capture or trap with a softness of lips, I was under your spell with silver-strings tied.”❤️❤️
Thank you so much for writing to the prompt 😀
My pleasure… it was so fun trying some rhyme..
Your innocence of silver had to be a sonnet, Björn, and a stunning one it is too. I love the sibilant ‘moon-silver spilled its whisper’ and these lines:‘On butterfly wings you left me alonea carcass, a void, the smear on your dress.’
It was a while since I did a sonnet… but those images made it impossible for me to avoid
I was the same!
Love how you weaved all those insects into your sonnet! Great imagery and very atmospheric.
I had fun with it… 🙂
🙂