The moon wanes upon the maddening of silver
As beams weave between branch and leaves that quiver,
Setting forth a howling, that betrays mans understanding.
For it is true , that Sayers of old, of this horrid day told,
when men would faint from the waning moons light,
and priest that once forgave, would now barter the soul.
With taverns now empty, the churches did overflow
And wolves in priestly attire feasted on parishioners
As they, in madness, fled the waning moons glow.
One by one, like sheep led to the slaughter,
Men turned on men, and women gave up their daughters.
For this was the day, that the maddening moon did sway,
And what appeared to be holy, was in fact, evil at play.
So hearken still to the waning moons chill,
And cover your eyes from its maddening cry,
For man still without understanding… retains his freewill.
J. Allen Wilson © 2004