Moon smiles sweetly as she rises in the East,
Orion slips sleepily into the West.

With so much tragedy all around us,
how blessed to find peace now
here, above us.

The it upstairs
thinks it's God,
But it isn't.
Man or Woman,
It comes in a thousand genders.

It's only has one mind,
Its own pleasure,
The power of Now,
Well, that's what it's all about.
The cost,
Well, that's no problem.

It begs
It borrows
It steals
It pleads
It lies to you straight faced.

If you bleed,
When the consequences are paid,
It says, "Not me"
"We'll deal with it later"
"One more time"
"One more round"
"One more rodeo"
"One last time for the road."

It's pretty smug
most of the time,
Can't move your
arms or legs,
But whips up anxiety
if
you say, "No. "
It'll show you resistance is futile.

Though it only hangs
around
for little while,
It'll let you know.

It speaks to you
in the third person voice -
You deserve it
You need it
You've been so good.

It'll talk you into trances
strange self-destructive dances,
Twist you upside down,
Inside out.

It ain't God,
Somebody needs to talk to it soon,
Let it know,
These days of running the show
are numbered,
There's more to life than this slumber
Numbness has had its abundance,
Talk to it soon
While there's still time.

A whisper, though, says something different,
"How's about
one more
time. "

Two birds had fallen from a tree
when a question dawned on me
would mercy say return them home
or did mercy set them free

Awaken if you will, to words you spoke in jest
in dreams you took your fill, and left me all the rest
hearken if you dare, to the wisdom you once knew
of swansongs and self care, both of which were true
archaic, sound the thoughts, but strings all seeming pure
your heart's been many things, though none of them are sure
awaken fore you burn, and then try and coax yourself
for the roads all twist and turn, on your journey out of hell

Lay still, and dream awhile, of orchids in moonlight
neath stars on a hill, taste the juice of elderberries,
fermenting as it spills, though not one thought alone
with a boy who knows no limits, and hands as cold
as stones, once tossed across the river with intent of
breaking bones, the dust crushed into powder then
stuffed into his nose, as he hands you all his misery
he claims to hold a rose, but your heart has known
wisdom in spite of growing old, you have learned  
to keep soft petals from the cold, while in deep starlit
scenes, you imagine thriving forests alive in shades of
green, but remember long before this, when it had all
just been a dream

to sit across from you, conceding
thoughts
sprinkled with cookies of a rare chocolate chip type

looking on
as you take a last bite
and time
jealousy strikes the clock

-we must move on-

Yet I cannot deny
an Ode to that little piece
hated and adored at once

that one piece that soft
so quietly crumbled
from your lips
without reaching mine

sweetness tasted
of an imagined first kiss
in the flight of thought
and time