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Apr 2020 · 210
Eclipse
Floater Apr 2020
I was there when the sun met the moon.
A smile in the bar,
from the other side of the world.
Fragile moments with delicate frames,
One late night eclipse.

I was there when the sun lifted his head.
When the moon's eyes snared,
And traced an awestruck face.
I watched the pull of two titans unprepared,
Erase the earth between them, history's tally scrubbed bare.  

I was there when the sun calmed and cooled.
When the moon became the centre of the universe.
Radiant strings of stars only too eager to align.
Old passages and signatures, smiled on their scarred words as they fell into new books.

I was there when the sun couldn't hide.
I caught the moon dancing in her own light.
A source and reflection of beauty held safe floating on the night.

I was there when the moon woke the sun.
Dragged into dawn by realities bite.
The moon's time was done whilst the sun just begun.

I was there for the full week eclipse.
When the moon shone.
When the sun felt.
I heard the moon sing forecasts to the skies.
I felt the sun when he drew plans for a new home.

I was there when the sun held the moon.
An embrace felt residual.
I watched as they slept,
From the other side of the world
Apr 2020 · 205
Sanitised
Floater Apr 2020
They claim a wolf in sheep's clothing
But I was raised a fox on a hunters fence
If finding me was easy
Why then does this crowd seem so tense?

If two birds with one stone was a hit
Then the ovation is running late
What praise does six permit?
Who swapped your gloating for hate?

Forgive the misdirection
What's your greatest fear?
Please keep your social distance
Who armed the teen cashier?
Apr 2020 · 111
Atlas
Floater Apr 2020
Pull yourself together sir,
the men can't stomach a scene in a storm.
The ship's heart has been anchored, I fear you can't talk wind through the sails.
We've all seen your compass,
it was posted on the crows nest.
The masts are showing splinters and your throat is caught by hope.

Please don't drink the ocean, depths and distance can't be swallowed by pride.

Have you nothing to say?

The birds miss your voice, first mate has gone deaf.
We need some direction, attention with curly words.

North will stay the same, it's where you left your spark.
But any more holes and you'll drown in the dark.
Put down the monocular, we can't stand to watch anymore.
Address your hell with chorus, row the boys to shore.
Sing us back on southern land, hold posture, withstand.
This nausea is required, withdraw the stone from bone.
There's only room on this rescue boat, for those who were built to float.

As above, so below.

Sink or swim, no difference to crowds who missed the undertow.
First poem

— The End —