Wanderer of worlds,
Nomad and refugee,
Harvester of dreams,
Sequestered from agony,
Home looms ever closer,
March on inexorably,
This is where the sidewalk ends,
And where you need to be

Want,
Need,
At what point does one concede?
At the bellowed taunt of another?
The deep cutting prose of a brother?
Whence temptation tantalize your nose?
Until the yellowed rot of ones tongue?
Perhaps upon the cliffs of a panic,
Worries and anxiety slung high on your manic Shoulders,
Breaching the oft crossed line again and again,
Does the line hold with ones shadow?
Or woefully watch on,
Anchored to that genesis strife.
I ask thee please,
At what point does one concede?

A pale glow,
Nocturne elegance and grace,
Break free of its confines
And illuminate thine beautiful face,
Soft lit glimmer,
Frame the windows of your soul,
Radiance withheld beneath surge forth
And prelude the day,
Of the tide you are,
To and fro,
There is a beauty to both,
And yet more in the succession,
For sun and moon lock in eternal dance,
And what is a dance without a partner?