Before I started draining parts of me
onto this page
I couldn't see for the clearest of paths,
I would dwell,
Hide away in my own safe house
Of saturated stories.

I would scratch my head catching gravity
between my fingertips.
A color would be a rainbow in black skies
of circling crows.

The floor around me would move
dancing along,
It would lead me and my pen to paper
Like a knight's sword to stone.
I would wonder why my mind
Could paint,
My thoughts would explode
into millions of fireflies.

Sometimes I would see the most
flawless imagery
But I couldn't write it down for the awe
of being lost,
Inside my own world of untold stories,
and poetry.

Shoot me up, just a taste
Numb my core with sweet novicane
Poison my veins, rippling clear across my brain
So strong that I don't feel a single thing
Not a pinch of delight, veering on the edge of insane
In a dream-like state
Soundlessly floating away.

I've met you before, Lucy
But this time I intend to stay
I'm captivated by your prison, chained inside your domain
In this realm of impurity, you are my desired escape.

You will be loved
Loved deeply, by a poet,
You will be narrated
In a verse
And be flattered by its complexity
You will fall for his honest rhyme
And drown in the melody of his singing words
You would want to curl in the meter
Of his thoughts
And hunt for his raw desires
You will be loved
Deeply, honestly and plainly,
By a poet.

A clear, cool night. I have been reading,
    but the thoughts of man do not solace me.
I raised the curtain and looked at the moon,
    clear and silvery; and I brushed
    some of the unrest out of my mind.
I know all the theories of the moon.
    There have been times when the symbols
    of science have robbed me of some of its
    mystery and charm
But no one can explain the moon any
    more than a grasshopper can explain me.
In youth, the moon promised too much.
    But now I understand better; that was not
    the moon's fault.
Also the moon and I have this in common:
    we both are wanderers across the night.