Moonpoem

Lay small tokens at her altar

sandalwood and moonstones

Swatches of silk and linen

silver chains

and scents

and songs

She is a jealous orb

she wants the toys from your attic

the skeletons from your closet

nothing of value to anyone at all

easily missed

but more precious than gold

She demands reverance

and blood

a sharp cry

in turn for a future promise

the remnants of your soul

in turn for absolution

She is most easily displeased

or pleasantly surprised

perhaps with the proper sacrifice

She can yet be persauded.