Side effect of blood moon

The sun rises and sets as any other day,
the sun hangs low and the moon is at bay.
A mysterious mist wrapped around,
twilight dust and silence surrounds.
The night curtain fell and main acts begin,
and the moon will never be the same again.
The corn field sways as west winds blow,
the harvest moon, cornfield in reddish hue.
A spell enacted by the wise night wizards.
Insomniac moments, howling werewolves.
Cats huddle around the corner,
eerie yet ethereal vibe hangs in the air.
Ominous shadows lurking, waiting.
Bloody moon, full moon, waning.
Scarlet autumn leaves in the weary old trees,
the red light seeps through them like blood veins.
Shifting shades caressing on the window,
like a professional puppeteer putting up a show.
Old white moon is now red as blood,
some say curse, some say murder.
For the witches, it's autumn Sabbath,
night sun soaked, drenched in blood bath.
For the scientists, it's perigee moon,
as she kisses the earth's orbit, leaning close.
This bowl full of silver beam is an artist,
making witches and shaping scientists.
Then what is her side effect on me?
Now i'm a poet, stuck in this poetry.