Moloch’s Lullaby
A stag, a challenge to Moloch’s might,
like the wagtail’s song, in the night,
‘neath the moon, the baby—in the rain,
whose fragile cry is both a joy and pain.
In shifting shades of light and shadow, a mission.
Moloch wanders on with an elusive ambition.
In each step, each sigh, each fleeting breath,
He seeks the hope beyond the veil of death.
The stag he follows, nimble as the breeze,
through forests deep and whispering trees.
An anthem to Moloch, dark and fierce, should rise,
with baby on his back in wrap—muffled cries.
As a wagtail dances upon the dusky stream,
its fluttering form, a fleeting dream.
‘Midst the dark, the baby a bete humaine,
with eyes like twilight’s sorrowful refrain.
Every sound, a shadowed reverie, a lullaby.
His tale survives, a song to make you cry.
In each soft sigh and every whispered tune,
Moloch still hunts beneath the silver moon.
WoPoLi 
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