Paramedic 1:

"He's losing so much blood."

Paramedic 2:

"It's a miracle if he can make it past this."



Saturday night, and I'm in the back of an ambulance,
But not in soul, just in body, oh and in the company of so many wires,
I can't tell where they end and where I begin,
But the paramedics say there was a tragic accident and some flying tires.

We reach the ER, my stretcher is flying on the white tiles,
And soon enough I'm greeted by more wires than I can count,
They're saying that they want to hear my heart,
So I'm opened up past layers of tissues and my heartbeat is playing aloud.

I'm somewhere in a circus, learning how to walk on a tightrope,
One arm on the verge of life, the other on the verge on death,
And my feet are stronger than they've ever been,
I'm not afraid of the fall, I'm afraid they'll see the mark I've had since birth.

And they do, I see it in the face of those people wearing white scrubs,
Their faces become the color of their operating room attire,
They don't know what to do with me,
As they come to realize what's got me here is not the flying tires.

They see my heart, a land that is home to no one,
Yet a massacre is taking place between the northerns and the southerns,
A border holding together the mismatched territories,
But there is no compromising between two armies this stubborn.

Each side wanting to flood the other, wanting to conquer,
And the small canal that was once an uncharted place of peace,
Is now holding a rowing contest to the mind of the victim - me -
Who will reach it first and incorporate their power with claws and teeth...?

It was the time to surrender, ending all attempts at making amends,
And watch cannibals sailing in rivers of blood,
They think each accelerated beat is a new victory,
Yet it was a far away cry from it, it was a new tear, a new cut.

And when each side invades the other, they claim it as their own,
But they are only emigrants thinking they can reconstruct a desert,
It was only a land of chaos, they themselves have caused,
Where was once life flowing in veins, is now where resources are tethered.

And with no winner, the end approached,
The curtains already sweeping the ground,
Doctors wiping sweat from their foreheads,
Letting the hospital gown cover the battleground.




Paramedic 2:

"Maybe there's a wife we can call, to you know ... deliver the news..."

Paramedic 1:

"It appears, he just went out for a drive in the middle of the night, with no phone or ID... not even his driver's license..."

Paramedic 2:

"Maybe it wasn't even his car..."



THE END

Life flows through the doors,
Dispersed by the ceiling fan,
A makeover for every patron,
The waitress serves a second chance.

Ex-husband but current parent,
Negotiating with a teenage daughter,
Two untouched lunch plates,
As the gap grows further and further.

Central focus being on a book cover,
Held by an E.R nurse still in her scrubs,
The waitress tries to decipher a meaning,
All while wiping leftovers from table tops.

The calender on the wall says Friday,
And in walks a sundress along with a button down,
Two steaks and a red rose,
Right up comes the waitress with a dinner to astound.

Beginnings and ends in motion,
The clock cues for the 40-something man,
In the far corner he sips his black coffee,
Forlorn eyes of a widow staring at a wedding band.

Wiping beads of sweat from her forehead,
Retying her hair into a secured knot,
Exhaustion slowly kicking in,
As she refills the coffee ***.

The college girl strolling in with her book bag,
Smiles with pity at her as she gives her order,
She thinks of how her minimum wage must look,
But her love for her job makes her smile never falter.

Days are something treasured,
Every hour, a different movie plays,
She collects all those stories,
With the tip left after the customer pays.

Dear future self,

On a scale of one to doormat,
How prune are you to accept?

And have you been proven wrong,
Or is it still the worst you expect?

Have you learnt walking the line
Between pessimism and optimism,
Or have you lost your wits?

Have you made yourself lasagna,
Kept track of your ***** laundry?

Eating enough green,
Or still lazy to get up when you're hungry..

Is time as life altering as it sounds,
Or plain old yesterdays that represent nothing?

Have you bribed your lucky stars,
And found that perfect timing all of a sudden?

Are you even still writing,
Or left the platform for greater poets?

Still doing things half-heartedly,
Or finally filled the gap where the lines are dotted.

Have you witnessed a miracle?
Washed yourself of your ever present dissatisfaction?

Acquainted the many selves that you are,
And finally released your thoughts from their abstraction?

I know there's no finish line,
Or at least we won't be here to behold it.

But I hope you're far ahead,
So you can slow down a bit.

Shall I dwell in a blob of paint

Something so fickle...

With flailing arms I'll try to swim

in something so little...

Colored and indigenous 

My thoughts will trickle...

And in this petty vividness 

My eyes shall twinkle...

Till I create a river so infinite

So I never again feel belittled...*

●●●

The water has a sound,
I've only heard
when I was by myself.
It tells a secret
The way the circles
Form and swirl.

Just for a moment,
I never knew you.

And never tasted
Disappointment all too soon.

These vast acres,
Remind me of days,
When it was just me.
The sprinklers
Would cry 
And I would run free.

Just for a moment,
The weight elevated.

And matters of life 
and death were left to fate.

But the sun lied to me,
When I looked at the surface,
I only saw the break of day.
I kept searching and searching
But I never did
Find my face.

Just for a moment,
I was never here.

The earth revolved easier,
The sky had less tears.

Only that tree
Shall mourn my loss
When I echo off of the rope.
The moon can take 
Where I left off,
As my heart shall soak.

Just for a moment,
You won't think of me.

From this soundless world,
I wish you can find peace,
Under the same tree.*

● ● ●

I am the greatest poet alive.

In my body, I am the greatest poet alive,
In my continent, I am the greatest poet alive-
Yesterday, I was…

Today, I am the worst poet alive,
Because I know that yesterday
I was at the peak of my poetic diffusion,
Inspiration stayed the night,
and greatness happened to have occurred,
So yesterday, I was the greatest poet alive,
in my population-of-one continent.

Today I'm just a jealous bitter soul,
Cause I know I wasn't good enough
for inspiration to stay,
Today I know that inspiration fears commitment,
I resembled everything appalling,
I was desperate and needy,
So inspiration left me for another poet
without a second glance.

Because inspiration doesn't want to be
chained down to the grounds of monotony,
A room with four walls is all I could offer,
And it needs a castle where it can trespass
to the wilderness of the sky any time,
It needs the freedom where it can soar
above and look down
in fascination at the array of poets
that it has touched their minds and hearts,
Because that's when inspiration feels alive,
When it can see the power that it has diffused
into their -now- luminescent hearts,
A picture depicting a sky adorned with stars,
An earth adorned by poets that never sleep.

Today, I'm heartbroken because I know inspiration will never be 'mine'.*

It will continue to break hearts, then come back,
And I know that I will continue to accept its apologizes,
Even if they weren't uttered,
I will make one up inspired on spur of the moment,
Because without it I'm nothing but the worst poet alive,
In my body, in my population-of-one continent.

And when the days click and the words rhyme,
The world isn't always forgiving of the greatest poet alive in my population-of-one continent,
Because my poems are me,
And I know that I'm flawed,
I have bad hair days, my nose isn't pretty,
sometimes there are bags under my eyes, and I'm not always the nicest person,
Sometimes my appearance is disheveled,
Just like my poetry,
Then some days I spend the extra ten minutes in front of the mirror,
I care for the details,
And some days people actually like my words,
those are the good days.

And today, I am the worst poet alive,
Because I don't have hope,
Inspiration didn't leave me a note before it left,
It didn't give call me and said I'll be back in a few days,
So today I'm the worst poet alive in my book.

I've cleaned my mind though,
And threw away all the disposal pins
where I burst the bubbles of words that sound ridiculous,
I also folded away all the negative feedback
that my cerebral cinques have given me,
Hopefully inspiration might want to visit the greatest poet alive … tomorrow?

Faces are recreated on a piece of paper,
Words copied from my mind and saved for later.

Cause the windows of my mind are my eyes,
And the view is not something I've improvised.

I'm just enjoying being a passenger with such potential,
Getting inspired by the events even if not sequential.

And in turn art is a part of me, woven so beautifully,
That I use the colors of Twilight, waves and trees.

I'm trying to savor the universe so that it never runs out,
I've turned its essence into more shades of pastels than I can count.

I've written its stories in the memories of timeless books,
So diverse and enchanting, some I never understood.

I'm in love everyday, but I'm also forlorn too,
I cry my sorrows to the sun as it dives into the blue.

I'm so small, I'm so inferior to the creator,
But as long as I'm alive, everyday I'm an innovator.

Tonight, as I flip through the world in the fog of the sky,
My brother's coughing beside me, rolling onto his right side,
We're pulling the bald landscape over our bodies of dust, 
We won't be dreaming of fairytales, just of a home to trust.

We drank too many tides, the sea is spilling over our bodies,
One day when our hearts explode, our names'll rhyme with casualties,
Along the tribes we race, at a young age hard we learnt,
That the longer we wait, the more of our memories will be burnt.

It's in black and white, the digital world they're fussing about,
We're in one cell of this universe that seeps no sound,
The clatter from the battleground rivals our ringing ears,
My dead mama said, boys were born to laugh at fear.

Through mirrors of smoke, I think I see distant planets shine,
I write to God everyday, can you patch the holes of mine?
At a tie in this war of peace, they bow down to the lion in the cage,
It'll only ever be a means to end, even our corpses will be estranged.

They only ever see eye to eye and claws to fangs,
Under clouds of fire, me and my brother will dance.

I would rather you be
A contrast to my pale expectations,
Than to merge into
The lowest pit of my imagination.

I would rather for it
To be the absolute worst day,
For I only like things to fit
Into the right plates on my tray.

Destroy everything I thought was right,
It'll be the most beautiful destruction I've ever seen,
Open all the jars and throw away the lids,
Teach me how to love the scariest places I've ever been.

Cause I'd rather be proven wrong,
Than continue this stale truth,
My mind needs a reevaluation,
Before it sweeps away my drying youth.

And in a different track,
Runs this parallel train,
Vision focused on the rails,
To acknowledge a hello refrained.

With her crumbled handkerchief,
She wiped the stars falling from her red eyes,
She bled her secrets to the galaxy thief,
Till the arrhythmia was reduced to defeated sighs.

Her violet joints matched the constellation,
With a violent pulse flickering in and out of life,
Her twilight breaths of condensation,
Till the planets are asleep, the only thing awake is the night.

When she's done orbiting around his fists,
And he's done burning her with his meteors,
She collects the hays of what is left,
Praying that galaxies could have a shore.

Lately, all the days have been turning into Mondays,
A job for the sun and a career for the moon,
A pencil sketched world with only shades of gray,
Stuck in sharp angles with no curves any soon.

Now Night is a Canson paper
Static with no signs of life

No room for poetry
nor the power of imagination

It's only a time for hours of sleep,
Eight to be precise

Behind the curtains
Dreams wait for an invitation

So I'm calling for all the stars to come nurse this disaster,
To bring back nights when staring out the window was enough,
I'm calling for them to patch all the hearts that ruptured,
To free those practical minds out of their handcuffs.

On the edge of the balcony,
The world teaches my head to rotate,
My spine surrenders its balance,
My hopeless body waits.

Fed up with human-crafted idealism,
Along with all human functions,
I bottle up all emotions,
And set this dim night to action.

The volt is raised,
The time, a haze,
The night, a home,
The cold, so warm.

The picture is now ruined,
Each shred its own standalone story,
All I feel is coursing adrenaline,
As I dig a deep hole to bury all my glory.

Standing in line with hollow light bulbs,
I wait like an addict for the dose,
Every last memory not convincing enough,
As the switch is finally being closed.

The volt is raised,
The time, a haze,
The night, a home,
The cold, so warm

And the metaphor become reality,
As I become addicted to the echoes,
The world shut out like an outage,
So the only thing alive is my voice.

Speed limits, all but a dream,
No remorse nor guilt to hit the breaks,
I'm alone with no ties,
Don't believe in friends or family's sakes.

I find more and more like me,
Vanity and selfishness put in a mixer,
Dim mutant stars living an eternity,
With only thirsty desires to be watered.

Birth date and place, the advocate night,
It spreads its arms till we prevail,
Humanity switch is now a temptation,
To more animals with 4 limbs and tails.

Now that scene on the balcony,
Such a long walk from there,
Comparing that volcano,
To this new software.

I am now a blank canvas,
With no pressure to spill colors,
I just exist to be,
Haven't got a nerve to suffer.

I see them pure people in my memories,
Now drinking the virulent night,
Two worlds being carbon-copied,
Death suits being worn alive.

The smoke colors the universe,
A place no longer suitable for life,
Who would abide to the rules?
When we've all lost humanity signs.

Hearts, now glazed,
Time, no longer a grace,
The cold, a curse,
A search for another earth.

I'm a square trying to fit inside a circle
All my sides are bruised,
My story is now a rip off,
Cause my original one didn't fit the mold's strangle.

I remember when I was just a small circle,
Falling through vessels,
Gushed at by my inner circle,
When I adapted with the world I grew right angles.

Back to square one, I iced all my bruises,
When one almost healed,
I Found my old self,
today's leftovers, and me in a love triangle.

The actors shuffled around the stage,
In a hurry to deodorize themselves of what they were,
New words are getting recreated,
The vapor of the past moment taints the air.

It takes a neck at a right angle,
And a smile at a linear relationship curving upwards,
The machine spilling new pages,
Receiver ends watching standards getting ruptured.

Now you have to pay a ticket, a cost,
To live through a screen, framed by your acting skills,
Because what once started as a perfect match,
Now is only worth a motion picture's thrill.

The patterns that once ran parallel to one another,
Intersected along the way, now sitting perpendicular,
Running low on impulse amusement,
Backstage, the two actors were nobody in particular.

● ● ●

Two streets away
I imagine myself walking
Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes

Waking up with the world
As its beauty is still pale
Not yet mixed with the car exhausts

Two streets away
Is the silver wavy water
As it tries to imitate the sky

Bike wheels floating above the roads
Runners racing the sun
Music spilling from that one headphone.

Two streets away
I imagine my blouse fighting the morning breeze
The benches filled with the flowers' happy tears

The streets hinting of awakening,
As the shy face of the peeking sun
Warms the hidden chilliness 

Simplicity is the key
Without man's rough hands
Everything is just being itself

***** feet,
Asleep on yesterday's damage
Not yet awake to indulge in more*

● ● ●

Fluorescent lights showering the room,
As two pea-like eyes started to bloom.
Amazement in the irises of the newly born,
Novelty in the skin she has newly worn.

It's the same date but the moment has changed,
The eerie newness by usual comfort is replaced.
The mind is fighting, racing ahead of time,
Beauty and grace in her features intertwine.

The small mass of flesh in the back of her head,
Her feet moving to a new unknown ahead,
The shade of her complexion remaining the same,
No wind nor breeze touching her undying flame.

Divide the moon into two halves,
You'll find inside a million lamps,
Also cut the heart into two halves,
You'll find inside blood and valves.

Romance is trapped in a Shakespearean novel,
He buried it under the centuries with his shovel,
And the modern fast pace modified the human brain,
It's only a repetitive pattern of falling in vain.

Juliet has a husband, he's older by twenty years,
He's never home, she's always out shopping new fears,
Romeo is jobless, searching ups and downs for a key,
He heard life starts in the aftermath of a dream.

The old witch sitting in front of a glass bowl,
Now broke and retired, all her cookbooks are sold,
And the wolves are out, ruling the woods,
Magic's density in the air, isn't as high as it should.

So plug the stars out, pluck all the electric flowers,
The universe is now running low on power.*

● ● ●

It's okay,
It's alright,
You have yourself,
Just like you do
every night.

You're at your worst?
Well so be it...
They didn't see
that your hearts unfit?
Then
so
be
it.

You hold that heart,
and you tuck yourself,
Command your breaths
To fall into context,
The world will be there tomorrow,
And the day will fall
fom your hardened grip,
The landslide will come to curve,
The drought will leave
no tears to shed.

Even if you have to be the ocean,
The sun, the moon and the land,
To walk yourself to the last shore,
You've got yourself to understand.

You can be that push of courage,
You can be the one to soothe,
Nothing in this world matters,
Not even this heavy weight of blues.
You wanna bet?

You're at your worst?
Then so be it..

If I count all the reasons why I should be angry this evening
All the reasons why I should be sad
Every reason why I should be devastated
Disappointed, forlorn and infinitely mad

If I count all those reasons

My evening will stretch and border me in
It'll make tragic synapses with the night
My time will be smothered with numbers
Mathematics will hold me back from a beautiful twilight

I shouldn't count those reasons

... I should just leave them to be
Like every other bottled up emotion
Maybe I won't be able to close the lid
Maybe the pressure will cause an explosion

But maybe... 

Maybe I'll focus on the classical music
Emerging from the next door apartment
It'll take me somewhere, a nicesomewhere
And the pen will involuntarily find the parchment

The mathematical evening will turn into a poetic one
One thankful for music, beauty and art
For those treasured moments in my memory lane
With their fair emotions that colored my heart

Maybe the future will turn into a canvas
And the night a finally finished masterpiece
The white walls a space to think and develop
And tomorrow a new thought to believe

I've always hated mathematics

The way everything was narrowed down
To only two shades of life, black and white
I rather loved my rich box of pastels
Where every moment has its shade of right

And by the end of the evening

I came to a tie

Two piles of reasons
Piles that mathematics created
And I know today is a choice
So I'd rather choose the lighter weight 

●●●

Blur of Gold

Let the world blur
On the tips of her toes
She will spin and spin 
Till the darkness grows

Hands raised above her head
Shoulders disappear behind her hair
The loud music will mask
Her erratic gasps of air

Dispersed in opposite directions
Every rhythm is so new
In her temporary blindness
Every light is blue

A delirium airing live
Adrenaline looking down a cliff
The only voice is nothingness
Every muscle learns to forgive

Just like a gold coin
Tossed down suddenly
Intruding eyes are hypnotized
A blur of gold is all they see

As if just to teach a lesson
To put the black next to the white
Irises flicker with sullenness
Then dies a vivid light

Meters of cloth
Wasted on the sparkly ground
Paler than the spotlight
Departs the pulsing sound

Whistles from buses and cabs,
Drivers intimate with their fogs of smoke,
As the ashes of the cigarette
Meet the concrete defeated, devoid of hope.

Today is yesterday, tomorrow is last month,
A chain of promises and complaints,
Necks wearing the chain with devout compassion,
... the fire is smelling faint.

And in the loneliest hour, which is every hour to be exact,
We search for any wavering footprints,
Marching on an array of dead skulls,
To guide us to where the river is. 

We're catching breaths with heads hanging from windows,
But we can't breathe enough, can't grasp much,
So we hang them down ropes of the cheapest material,
Aiming for a free fall to where the silence stretches.

Everyday with red eyes staring holes at the ceiling,
The ringing in our ears comes to life as the devil,
Every night it has a poem of soothing words,
... they sooth every flame, till they turn to lifeless pebbles.

You are no one special

The days make a song out of it, it's just so catchy,
It's the tune played in every commercial,
It makes you believe we are nothing but the dirt we are,
Ideologies are illusions of an anger rebel.

It's every smile plastered on a heavily made up face on television,
The finger pointed in the "right" direction,
It's the words of illiterates that make it on trees' corpses,
It's the thought that gives your mind a detention.

The air is heavy on diseases and illnesses,
It's so saturated that it turned hearts yellow,
It made south north and north south,
It made billboards rules to follow.

I'm sick too, I'm sick of those same words
That I utter at the peak of my revolutionary asthma,
But when I'm good enough to breathe,
I bring acceptance out of my closet and iron it to finish this stanza.

Your need is a knife,
Sometimes a chainsaw.

It cuts at my shoulders,
The bones in my arms,
Some days it's quite greedy,
Wanting a share of my soul,
Dissecting a chamber or two
of my heart.

You eagerly want to drink my sanity,
To dehydrate me of any positivity,
Till life seeps through me and into you,
And osmosis makes us even,
Two distorted figures with no aim,
That's when you can sleep.

I'm afraid we can't both reside
in my fraying body,
You weigh a million unsaid words,
And my spine isn't strong enough
To keep pushing us through
your derailing paths.

We often only relate to negativity,
The blackest of lines
matching our irises where light is an illusion.

Spilling the foreign parts of our souls,
Mixing them with the colors of every stranger's intrusion.

We're way too familiar with every wrinkle that our words posses,
We have a photographic memory for our flaws.

We only see the crumbled itinerary,
Where the moments of doubt come alive to sink their claws.

We can't wear amusement well,
Not when our minds have no reflexive reaction to ourselves.

So that one sentence, that one gesture,
That voices the darkest of thoughts in our tiniest of cells,

Is the one we relate to the most,
In a sea of living sunrises and sunsets,
We can't help but look back,
And stare at that resurfacing ghost.

Inspiration doesn't like to be chased,
It likes to come at its own pace.

You'd run and run hoping the tunnel would end,
Too bad the light and dark can not be friends.

Oh but they can!

When you close your eyes,
That strike of thought that lights up your mind.

The ghosted words tripping in your darkness,
Till they fall and incorporate some light in the abyss,
... they can be friends.

Just like the positive and the negative attract,
They agree to disagree, they've made a pact,
They run parallel just in different tracks.

And sometimes both become allies,
In concentric circles meant to hypnotize.

But one will never be the other till the end of days,
Try to mix black and white you'll only get grey.

The world would wilt and all the rivers would dry,
One can't live if they other has died.

Though their intentions are oceans apart,
They tend to follow each other in that regard.

I'm an empty vessel,
A reflection of you in me,
Clear the fog that's my mind,
Then it's your eyes you'll see.

I let the water pass through,
Erase the memories I once had,
So I can no longer taste nostalgia,
Only the salt and it makes me go mad.

I used to write and I used to read,
But now I'm an empty vessel,
I drink in the waves you surf,
and spit them in a sandcastle.

And quick to drown me is the sun,
Recruiting the days against me,
They string me along for weeks,
The longer the day, the less air to breathe.

I'm an empty vessel, so transparent,
I let the wall have a more powerful image,
Disappearing into the landscapes,
So my unwelcomed thoughts will be omitted.

It's your eyes you'll see,
Cause for god knows how long
I'm closing mine.
I shall dwell inside this empty vessel,
If you glimpse a sight of me
Just make make a sign.

Blue lighting embracing the faded linen of the couch,
We grow flowers to keep life flowing through this house,
Because planets only collide when it's the end of the world,
And the clean tile floors know that peace can't be disturbed.

The last we amplified our voices on one another's frequency,
The year sparkly white lighting hung down from trees,
Naivete of youth counting down to the far unknown,
Missing the fact that it will then be identities to mourn.

And down with China plates we inherit this folklore,
Bolt your windows and hide from strangers at your door,
Cause opportunities are nightmares you should avoid,
You see, you're only a half waiting to be adjoined.

In search for a wall to cower under its shadow,
The sun is never kind to lone figures with no one to follow,
So it won't matter if you mend this vacancy with cement,
No one will see past the frame, wood doesn't comprehend.

We speak in future tense,
Dreaming of the land of cream,
Where pollution is white,
And we're employed to dream.

If tomorrow had shoulders,
The tendons would be adorned in tears,
From the weight of the expected,
The pushed back promises that are insincere.

We're asking tomorrow
To be the battle wound we've never had,
The battlefield overcome by green,
So we shut our eyes, and turn our backs.

Some saw the stars,
Their foreheads napping on the wall -
The great divide -
Where ignorance stands tall,
A sight unseen,
Is the world on every other side,
Where the dust molecules
Accumulated where life has dried.

In an artifical lake,
They thought they crossed oceans,
Blue skies reflected on puddles,
Static movement mistaken for locomotion,
While tides of sewage water,
Swallowed all the greener pastures,
Famines eating at bodies,
Growing up into a natural disaster.

Some flipped the same page,
Their universe knew of nothing past the sun,
Orbiting around themselves,
Isn't that how the big bang begun?
The less they fed their minds,
The rarer it ever asked for more,
When you've been living in a white dream,
It's hard to believe the existence of black doors.

We're in the same solar system,
But their bodies are alienated,
With muffs on their ears,
To keep out the winter their hands created,
But as our fears turn into expectations,
They'll be able to hold them then,
Reality crashing on our roofs,
The wall won't be heard of again.

Once upon a September night,
When breaths were taking flight,
To the upper parts of the atmosphere,
Where the fellow stars shine bright.

A soul was looming around a room,
Wishing the navy sky would turn blue,
Losing hope for a while there, 
Till a newborn sun came into view.

The soul then elbowed the eyes,
To take in this overwhelming sight,
Ray by ray the world awakened,
She'd then wait for dawn every night.

Sweat breaks and distraction ends,
The sun counting the time she's spent,
As orange pastels start to melt,
Soul watched sadly where she went.

And everyday the cycle was repeated,
A soul waits, watches as a day fleets,
Her sad sighs the only acquaintance
She's made with the moon beam.

After every sunset comes a phase
When soul and heart start to pace,
Whispering their heavy troubles,
To the dim moon's lonely face.

Acquaintances became stronger bonds,
As more blues started ranging on,
The night spread like a blanket,
The moon always had a soothing song.

Yet the soul remained captivated,
Sunrises and sunsets always awaited,
Till hellos are farewell were exchanged,
She spent the rest of the night sated.

She preferred a glow intense and warm,
Never grateful for the moon's arms,
A moon that forever stayed,
As the sun's always come and gone.

Hidden behind a treacherous day,
Never welcomed nor awaited,
No moon-rise nor moon-set,
Taken for granted cause he always stays.

Soul never knew the truth,
She'd diffuse all her sorrow to the moon,
He'd always shine never dimming,
Did the departing sun ever listen to you?


So why are we so mesmerized by the sun,
When the moon's always been the loyal one.