The forlorn night of the moon is born,
the light of the sun gives to it birth.
What lives in the dark of the shadow,
cannot be burned by the flames of the sun,

Lest nature is to be denied its grace
and Chaos is to roam free.
Though, there is room on Earth for both
darkness and light to roam within their bounds.

Earth's heart to beat life into the vein
It's mind to hold death in its will
It's palms to tend the wounds of its flesh;
to give life anew,
and the soles of its feet
to wander again in death's valley.

The presence of the day cannot here touch ground
All the same, the shadow cannot reach the mountain's peak
Earth knows what boundaries to put in place
and it is Nature that obeys them.

But it is humanity that denies Nature its right.
We breed Chaos within the wind that blows
Spreading misfortunes around Earth's sphere.
Our wars and will to dominate life within and without our kind
famine the land of its native prosperity.

Earth screams that it's palms cannot keep up;
Cannot heal the damage done in time for more to be done
But humanity, ever burning with primal hostility,
willfully ignores its call to peace.

We burn in the shadow, and chill in the light of day
Offset the balance of Nature, and live selfishly
as the moon in the forlorn night burns clear,
and the sun in the opportunistic day is snuffed out.

The lights flickered so quickly
I almost thought I merely
blinked.

But my eyes, I'm sure, were open
And I felt a presence foreign;
ghost

The cup slid so subtly
I might have missed it, surely
except,

It was already
so close to the edge
that it fell
and
broke.

The sound of shattered glass
sounded so sharply
I almost thought it cut me,
not ghost;

poltergeist.

And it showed me
that it was not yet
satisfied.

Doubts about the Creator
sometimes overtake me.

There is a dichotomy between God
and Coincidence. It can often
be difficult to discern where the line is drawn.

And from this lack of proper discernment
is born doubt.

The story of the widow is so sad,
I'm not surprised she took her life.

The old lady, surely depressed
stabbed herself twice with a knife.

She was widowed, you see,
by her husband's ex-wife.

Who was overwrought with jealousy.
She came like a thief in the night.

When the widow found him dead,
of course, she was riddled with grief.

And amid her wailing,
she managed to call the police.

They did their job, but the arrest
could not offer relief.

And over the years, her moments of happiness
became more and more brief.

I was unperturbed when I'd heard the news
of the old widow's suicide.

But the woman in the cell next to mine,
hooted and cheered with boisterous pride.

Giants we think we are,
but no bigger than pebbles
on our Creator's shoe.
Compared to our potential
we are sub-par

And yet, we think we are succeeders.

We do to escape
the feeling of inevitable death
Soon to be bones in the dirt.
Zombies already walking, I'd say
I surely feel dead inside,

And yet, we think we are alive.

Imprisoned to eternal sin,
Beat the young and betray our kin,
****, pillage, and become tyrants.
We think we are giants
but we only do low deeds to feel tall.

And yet, we think we have morale.

Grandiosity has plagued the soul,
We do to get away with
and bury morality in our future graves.
Teach children bad behavior
and punish them for it.

And yet, we blame the times.

I blame the lovers of themselves;
the all-for-one thinkers.
We believe we are giants
but pay no mind to the mound
of sinking sand we stand upon.

And yet, we think we're going up.

Voice, do rectify,
Bindings to a prophesy
Arms flail about ritualistically
in tandem with the incantation.

Air becomes disturbed,
and voice box erupted,
strain the pitch, Nature is stunted,
Life breathing its last breath.

Hands pointed downward to the sky,
And the universe shifts,
Throat clenches in a final cry,
And caliginosity awakens,

Birds change their song,
they sing in darker tunes
in light of darker times to come
The sun takes back its light from the moon.

Chaos ensues.
He peers his head over the horizon,
His eyes offer no truce.
Instead, to force his wrath upon the people.

Monks prophesied he would come.
To I that summoned,
his presence is welcome,
Smile takes my cheeks.

O'er the distance, voices shriek,
driven mad with murderous instinct,
slaying lives, I stand watching from the peak
None could escape the vicious rage.

By the end, all as a deserted cage,
The ground cold, people lay dead,
Chaos reared his malicious head.
I stand on the precipice, laughing deranged.

Your love was a fire you lit only sometimes,
leaving me otherwise of its warmth deprived.
The emotional heaving of my chest
for the pain you caused me was best
expressed in the dark of night,
where you couldn't see my inner fight.

Your love was not just a stab to my chest
but a slow twist of the knife.
I was left to mend myself alone,
then perform as though I was brand new
every time.