I thought about moonlight,
How stars are like glitter to the kiss of the sun,
And it's lips are the moon pursed for love,
As daylight is a echo,
And evening is the sound,
And dawn is the break that takes with it,
The silent stillness in which we are found.

We are locked like silk strands to the tree,
From which all other silk strands can be,
Worms for the food of morbid decay,
I hold your hand in my minds eyes and with my minds voice,
Tell you it's ok,
It's ok to be soft when you're a word,
When it's a last dying word,
It's ok to be bare and open,
Like the wound of the night when day takes it's first slice,
And it's alright when you're nice,
Cause kindness cured my cancer of jaded desperation,
Like fading, faded perspiration,
That came from the kiss that the moon sent from me to you,
And like a badly worded comeback it stuck like glue,
And held on like a metal surface in winter time,
To a tongue who talked too much,
That said too many words,
That were much too hard for the ears that heard,
And that's why you're my bird,
Who sings me morning love songs with your still sleeping breath,
That if I could lie there listening I could be happy breathing death,
I could be satisfied with secondhand oxygen,
If the first hand was your lungs,
Then I could know I am complete,
With the unconscious symphony that you sung,
While I laid there and thought about moonlight.

I,
Art,
Pointed vocabulary.

You,
Me,
Or I,
Combustible,
Inexcusably,
Irrevocably,
Unattainably,
Plated,
And jaded,
New years faded,
We,
Are geometric.

Mathematically methodic,
Periodically pinning,
Hot and heated,
Razor folds and sharply pleated,
Fascist fad,
Plaid,
Bellbottom dreams,
Up do uppers,
Down right downers,
Freedom from freedom,
Morals for the meat grinder,
Hamburger politics,
Methodic politics,
Periodic politics,
Political politics,
Politics frolic with a devil,
And an angel by its side,
For a fast food meal,
With hamburger policies,
And fascist fries,
Supersized and supervised.

My child, are you able?
My child, can you walk?
Can you see, my child?
My child, will you talk?

You are my daughter,
You are my son,
My begotten child,
Dear daughter, my son.

Take my hand,
Hold tight,
I'll lift you from darkness,
Into light.

I'll take your clothing,
Tattered and torn,
I'll take your heart,
Battered and worn,
I'll replace them until you,
Reborn.

Clad in white,
A sparkling jewel,
Now a wise man,
Before the fool.

My child, from ruin,
To riches,
Saved from rotting bones,
In filthy ditches.

My daughter, my son,
In all that you do,
Forever and always,
I'll love you.

The clock is against me,
Faces of my life,
I will not survive this,
And this time is a knife.

Its blade is my blade,
And my blood is its blood,
I am drowning in myself,
Filth and essence, flood.

I wake,
I'm dead,
It's gone,
They said,
Never again a dreadful cry,
Once more and I will die,
Once more they asked in smiles,
And my heart it stopped and sighed.

I am drifting on the sea I made,
I spilt it all,
My eyes are jade,
I am a diamond atop a wave,
I fell, and will fall,
And all my own and self,
Could do naught to save,
A wounded one,
He's long since done,
No love for the wicked,
No trigger but the gun.

I am lost in the midst of a sentence,
Found at the end of a last breath,
Traveling circles around the corners,
That mark the edge of death.

With as many footsteps in front,
And same in the back,
Circles, circles,
The weary mind loses track,
Of time as the sun would tell,
Between the lines of heaven, hell.

I am lost in the eyes of hurt,
The deep shadow of their pain,
I hear the echos of the tears,
They resound, reflect and remain,
The softest ache one ever knew,
Were the words I lost,
That spoke of you.

They whispered to me as I slept,
When I woke,
Every syllable kept,
Replayed a thousand times tenfold,
They were sweet words so softly told.

Now at the end of a line,
I am balanced on the edge,
A hint of shade,
At a sunsets end,
I set myself and pledge,
With the hand that writes,
Having writ,
Lay on the heart,
Who slowly sits,
And etch forever in the soul who slips,
The words uttered softly by my lovers lips.

Tint of summer sweet,
In the colours of a smile,
Subtle tones of autumns breath,
Hint at the arc of death,
As the arrow would its length and trial.

And the breath of seasons change,
Dance in the mist of dawn,
Pirouetting ghost of leaves,
As spring clutches summers sleeve,
The shadows of its light come and gone.

Night would contest the day,
And the day an evenings end,
So would its end contest decay,
Of a moment torn on the mend,
As the newborn would clutch at life,
So would the withered at a second look,
And the seasons at a lengthened day,
As the eager eyes for an open book.

And for the stone which stands the winds and gale,
Of the seas rage it would boast, and to no avail,
Of all the hearts sulk and woe,
Could stone spin and weave a tail,
For time leaves no sign,
On that which shows no mark,
And that stone so untouched,
And so wretched a beating heart,
It, like autumns eve,
Could scarcely only breathe,
For fear of winters breath,
And with it, autumns death.

All the stars of earthen sight, Saw the earth and all its eyes, Each in disbelief and awe, As the night smiled in soft surprise. Morning light could not take the smile, They shared for that moments while, Born of the anothers joy, Of a lovely girl, And a distant boy. In the gentle soul of midnight sky, Did he look up and smile, Did she look up and laugh, And she then would smile, At the moon she'd never own, But still she shared, And he laughed the same, As he contently stared. And he knew of love, And hurt and pain, Of the fragile risk, And the worth all the same. She knew enough of love, Of all that it could be, She knew a careful dance, Of steps only she could see, As they lead toward a path, Towards her very heart, That bled for all the world, Its pieces by the part, That made this lovely girl. And it ached, At the sight of the moon, And he felt it too, As the tides turn and swoon, To the shores of subtle discontent, Where the glass of time behind wear on, To the soft shine of times own scar, Of the blood once come, now gone. And still she danced, In the pirouetting petals of the frozen sky, The same that he danced, In the wake of that lovely girls sigh, Stars spun as fireflies should, Whilst they spun as only lovers could, In minds alike they twirled, In two minds alike, A lovely world.