The moon is a babbling brook
Near the quaint town.
The moon is a lonely mariachi
Singing his sad songs with his guitar.

The moon is a silver dollar in  
The pocket of an elderly woman.
The moon is a lake where
Her body was found.

The moon is a stolen item that
Ended up in the mariachis pocket.
The moon is that same silver dollar
But covered in blood.

Maybe we are meant to acknowledge
The darkness.

If we ignore it
Then we will never see
The light shining through.

I harnessed my courage
And kicked those hunters
Were the sun doesn't shine.

He ripped her heart out
And placed it in a frame.
He worshiped the framed heart
But his knees began to bleed from the pressure.

He placed the frame in the attic
So it would never be touched.
Over the years he visited the frame
And whispered his dreams and ambitions.

But one day he stopped...

Wilting with the dust
Her heart began to crumble.
It is still up there today
Being forgotten by all...

Except YOU!!!

The cold seeped through the cover of moss
And chilling the fair nymph bathing in the spring.
She sang with my submerged piano
Gently rapping the keys.

Time stood still but she was out of reach
For a poor satyr like me.