Sisters Night and Death

In response to the weekend writing challenge over at Toads — here is a sestet (6 line poem) on the theme: Sisters Night and Death.

Blue Desires

Daughters of the moon, spectres of wind and shadow fly

like ghosts they float across a starless sky.

Words come like icy nightmare fingers, whispering they creep

sweet nightingale voices luring us, guiding us to sleep.

In their chambers, we dream of sisters death and night

carrying us away in the pale moonlight.

Copyright June 20 Stacie Eirich

I rather enjoyed writing this one today, although I must admit that at first it was difficult to write about the moon and night while the dawn was breaking outside. These summer days full of my children — the early hours before they wake are usually the only ones I have alone to sit & write. But I am a creature of the night and feel as if I may also be a daughter of the moon itself — so it wasn’t a stretch to imagine the sisters and hear their voices. In the margins of my journal I wrote: What have they come for? Our thoughts, dreams, wishes, our very souls? They are beautiful, haunting…pure. Thanks to Kerry at Toads for the challenge. 🙂


Author: seirich

I'm a mother, writer & dreamer living north of New Orleans, La. I love writing, music, theater, travel and my family. I've written and published four books of poetry and a children's fantasy series: The Dream Chronicles. I'm now working on a third children's novel.

6 thoughts on “Sisters Night and Death”

  1. There is a gentleness about this description, a gradual sinking into night or even death that is cathartic.

  2. Stacie, I am glad that you added the moon into your poem, making possible the eerie Sisters’ shadow movement, as if having them flying willy nilly could add more to the ominous dark than the Sisters’ presences alone.
    Though the moon has power over me, the entirety was very very creepy. Do we really want to sleep?
    Thank you for the thrill and chill.

  3. I think this mirrors the thought of a death finally coming as a dear old friend bringing the tired one home… lovely.

  4. In their chambers, we dream of
    sisters death and night carrying
    us away in the pale moonlight

    One just cannot be dampened by the pleas of the younger
    people but to listen to their pleas


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