I stopped by to touch the Soul of the Moon
One more time
Before The body of a man claims me
In this moment of Giving

Curtains drawn tightly,
Now Quickly thrown aside
Open for all to See...
An animals cage revealed
The Paris of Illumination....
A Secret Rendevous with Choice
...Above Thought

Emergence of the Fearless One
Angels Harkening
And So It Is.

Here we are,
Still standing, our feet nailed to the ground,
Never bowing, relentlessly fighting,
Here we are,
Regretting, never forgetting,
Ruthlessly moving forward.
Here we are,
Bloodied, beaten,
Never giving up.

this is the cap that poor jerry wore
the day that he beat the big drum
until his palms were so very sore
in the heat of the dance in the dust
now he sits still and takes it all in
saved from soiling his cap with sweat

this is where it was always leading
this parting of the ways, this fleeing
from the sore shots of life's arrows
it was always coming, this pulling
asunder in the glow of a last twilight
so fare thee well my friend and foe
you who slew my hopes and dreams
and made sure there were no streams
to cool my burning soul and quench
this horrible thirst that still persists
i hunger for the warmth you exuded
and thirst for that temperate streak in you,
a virtue now so rare and dear in this world
most are well-schooled in shameless artifice
so here now i sit in this elevated oblivion
watching you melt into the unkind distance
fare thee well, my spring and my nemesis
i shall in time learn to want nothing gone

i see you
in the magnificence of your aura
and in your splendour
a supple aesthetic comma
with cupped hands
i see you
scoop up the water and let it trickle through your fingers
even as the weaver birds chatter ceaselessly outside
i see you
in that magical moment, a rainbow on your *****
as the fine rose sprays your body with resplendent water
in a wondrous fusion of sun, water and glowing inner warmth
i see you
break into a lyrical smile brimming with beauty and belief
and i think to myself
you're the story still to be conceived
the epic poem in heroic couplets in the making
you're the holy grail men have sought in their pilgrimages
i shall create a chant and a mantra in your honour
even as your person and your image vanquish me
and that's what love is
you're consumed by your mate in the fashion of the black widow
a ravenous spider that eats love

Old selves die easily.
They whine their superseded demands
And the winds of change
Blow buildings down on them.

Or slide into a warm bath of contentment
And gasp out their last as the water drains,
Marooning them like bathtoys of despair.

One has expired in my arms.
His face turns to smoke
Like a ghost beginning to form.

Tenderly, I drag him to the backyard
To hide him with the others.
I mark where they’re buried
So oblivion knows where to find them.