You say you got no use for moonlight,
But darling, that’s not true
Sometimes the moon is the only thing,
Keeping you company on long nights,
After the headline fails to feed you.
You claim you don’t need no sappy poetry,
But then how come you write it in your head,
Dreaming of Santa Fe?
Santa Fe was your love at first sight,
Dreaming of a future far away.
That is, until you saw her.
Sitting in the shadowed glow,
Of stage lights down beneath you.
Those things fly out of your head,
And you start anew.
‘Cause those things were stupid anyways.

Memories are like water.
They slip through your fingers,
Slippery and nimble.
They are like a beam of moonlight,
Breaking through the darkness of my thoughts,
Memories of better times.
They are the stars through the black,
That may be hidden but never go away.
They can shine bright as the sun,
Keeping my mind bright and warm and safe.
But they can also spread darkness,
A plague spreading through my mind.
Overcast skies and guilty thoughts.
But I am learning to fight it.
Memories against memories.
Making new, better ones each day.
I will win.

Starlight courses through her veins,
She was born from dust and darkness.
It swirls through her veins, through blood and bone,
Her skin is clear and markless.
It glows with power, radiance shines,
But this does not mean she's heartless.

Her soul, it shines, made of light itself,
And her smile, that smile, makes it known,
The way her heart, in her chest sits heavy,
Every day compassion grows.
She longs for change, for a stable world,
Kindness without loan.

"Why can't people just be good?"
The girl of galaxies pleads.
She hopes to spread the peace of planets,
That our planet so desperately needs,
The moon, it joins the righteous fight,
To help it's kin with ease.

She'd come from her home years ago,
Come to explore our lands.
She was shocked by the disorder and chaos,
Yearned to lend a helping hand.
She campaigns to bring a brighter world,
Petitions for others to join her plans.

She's done this all before, it's true,
A sojourner through time and space,
Trying to bring other planets her peace,
Leaving glimmering stardust as her only trace.
We're one of the worst she's seen, she frets,
But she will not forget our fragile place.

"All planets!" she cries, expressing her hope,
Resolve strengthening with every word.
"All planets have meaning, have purpose, have place!
Every one of them deserves to be heard"
She links hands with her allies, stands strong in the faith,
That together they can spread the wings of the world.

How deep does adoration run?

When is something fully selfless?

If the blade had pierced an inch to the side,

If the metal had torn through blood as much as fat,

Would the deed have been done?

If the precious life had spilled like ichor,

If the slitting had ended in death,

Would she have gone through,

The way the blade went through her flesh?

How selfless is selfless, really,

When it comes at little cost,

To anyone other than the others?



When is such harm justified?

What else to we see, and let slip?

How often to we twist and turn the words in our mouths,

Spin them around in our minds until they make sense to us?

How often to we change the core of a phrase,

Puff ourselves up with false knowledge and say that no,

I was in the right all along?

How often are we ourselves Orual,

Shunning the Gods for mistakes we’ve made ourselves?

How often to we like to think we’re Psyche,

Calm and fearless in the face of prosecution?

How often are we, ourselves, the prosecutors?

And when do we let it end?

How many times have we been no more than the Fox,

Scorning those who believe in what we call fairy tales,

Modern magic to which we love to turn up our noses?

How long does an act last, I wonder,

Before it becomes as real as the skin we wear on our bones?

How much of our reality becomes shrivelled,

Hiding in our veins the way Orual hid behind the Queen?

How many times, I ask,

Is that truly safer than the alternative?

How many of us hide behind shallow veils,

Dig the old selves barren graves?

How much of our life is no longer real?

How long will it last?



And think, for a moment,

Of the truth you may believe in?

How often does it shine like the oil lamp,

How often are we revealed and punish?

How often to we destroy when seen?

How many times, do you think,

We spend setting up impassable trials,

To keep ourselves hidden?

How many people, do you think,

Have truly past those courses?

Who do you actually know?

And who, reader, truly knows you?

How much of ourselves is a veil?

Do we even know who we are?

For years they grew,
Unharmed, pure.
A forest of pristine, perfect trees.
Until I turned on them,
Scrutinizing and fearful.
I cut them down,
Chopped off branches
And ripped them from the dirt
Because they weren't good enough for me.
I rejected the sun
Because I couldn't see the light.
I denied the saplings room to grow,
Afraid of being okay again.
And let the parasites of doubt and fear and worthlessness to grow bigger,
To take hold instead.
I severed the ties of root systems,
Leaving myself on my own,
Solitary.
I refused them rain and fresh soil,
And carved lines in their bark instead.
But even as my forest withered,
And I longed to destroy everything left,
As the sky grew darker and the air colder,
I realized that even through the darkest nights
Stars will shine.
So I made constellations in my head.
I let the roots grow back
And made new connections.
I let the bark heal and replenish the soil.
I help new saplings grow, and nurture the ones that hid,
Safe but invisible as disease raged on.
I work on killing my demons, the parasites that still try to haunt me.
But I am stronger now.
So I let the sun rise
Over the healing landscape of my mind

Time is a River

Time is a river,
It ages, rages
Racing and chasing
Changing, remaining
When everything else disappears.

Time is a river,
It flows, it knows
Exactly where the hidden hide
It finds and guides
Lost souls it
Found me.

Time is a river
It heals it reveals
The hurt the worst
Of the demons and heeds
No one, no plan
Every span of life
It sees it feels
It waits for no one, no plan.

Time is a river
It runs or it races
Do we fight it or
Does it fight us?
For control or for love
Through the sand through the mud
Through the minds
Of the weak of the strong
It critiques, never wrong.

Time is a river
Forever and never
Does it stop?
It may slow down or run faster
Though every disaster
Celebrations, devastations
Heartache and joy
But it always runs.
Time is a river.