I know naught of your ways
Such as your gods know nothing of me

A WOMAN IS CRYING

In the next room
a woman is crying

a moon
perches upon an hotel sign

unmoved

as a new millennium
dawns

as bright as neon

the woman
still crying

her unknown
despair

shifting silently
from one century to another

human grief
unchanged

from age
to age.

A woman is crying.

It was perfect before I had a name
I knew she was my wing-ridden angel the very moment my eyes were blessed
she laughs when she wants to cry
and her smile
it only gets deeper
she still holds the pieces of her broken halo...

once again I talk about wolves
because everyone has their problems
yes I do
and I've seen them circling fangs out
when I closed my eyes and made my peace with god
that moment
that moment lasted forever
and ever since I left it I am only trying to get back

yes i do remember when darkness was so constant I forgot about light
yes, I know how it changed me
she was the only beautiful thing I've ever known

Heaven sent me an angel
that's the only way
I wish I was holding her now
I wish I could tell her I love her
maybe I can
once again we talk about wolves
outside its raining
I love the rain

you once were an ocean,
still and calm, holding such deep beauty, and
you were mysterious as no one knew what lay deep below you waters, and so
I dove into the depths unsure of what I sought, yet
what I found was beautiful, it
was without a doubt extraordinary, yet
oceans don't stay still for long, and
when the wind in your sky got too strong, hurricanes
of sadness would form, and
tsunamis of sorrow would wash onto your shore, yet
I stayed, and
soon your warm waters froze over, and
you created icebergs, a
product of your past and present tragedies, something
that causes unintentional harm, and
they did, they
drowned me within your ocean, and
your tsunamis washed me onto your shore, and
so now I lay here lifeless on the land, waiting
for something or someone to save me before I get buried, six
feet deep beneath the sand.

Tears fall from the heavens whilst the angels bewail humanity

It's hard to watch the sun go down every night; the yellow and orange trickling beyond the horizon like a wounded animal, bleeding out into nothingness.

Take the moon;

Cold, tangible, dead.

It's only visible because of the Sun. The same sun it sends to a dark grave every night.

Much like the moon, a family cannot exist without two people, a mother and a father.

Much like the moon, love cannot exist without two people whose love is tangible through *I am in love with you's and the occasional will you bring me some nugs im really hungry.

Much like the moon, a poet cannot exist without inspiration.

Much of which, is inspiration through sadness.