Wide awake, the restless moon
Shone and sang its bright white ring,
Casting shadows long and purple,
On every silent flapping wing,
On each tucked in, dreaming child.
Playing while the whole world sleeps.
Yet, one small child does not sleep
For he gazes up to the white lit ring.
Ghosts and rumors haunt this child
His only reprieve the song of the moon.
He rests safely under its wing,
Living his dreams in shadowed purple.
Sureness mounts ever in the purple
Haze of night, when strangers sleep.
Seemingly year after year, out spout wings,
As he dances, swaggers, in midnight’s ring,
Learning the luring song of the moon,
Creatures run wild, and no sleeping child.
Until one day, he’s no longer a child
And all he lives is the world of purple.
Child to the seductive moon,
He knows not the world of sleep.
Yet on he dances in his endless ring
Flapping forever with his useless wings.
Then, he shouts, these are my wings!
I no longer hide in the dreams of a child!
So he dances his dance, in his last wrung ring.
And preying on his dark world, purple
With quiet, lonely with others’ sleep,
He glides from a lovely capture, His moon.
The song he learned from the moon
As he wakes, still sprites from his silver wing.
Heaviness on him weighs from sleep,
His body shrinks, fragile as a child.
Yet still in this world he craves purple,
And the song in his ears still rings.
Now, as he looks at the moon, its song yet again does ring,
And he wakes from day to purple, and stretches his molting wings,
With the mind of a man and whimsy of a child, he vows the world his for as long as they, and not he, sleep.
May 21, 2010
May 21, 2010 at 9:13 AM UTC
Wide awake, the restless moon
Shone and sang its bright white ring,
Casting shadows long and purple,
On every silent flapping wing,
On each tucked in, dreaming child.
Playing while the whole world sleeps.
Yet, one small child does not sleep
For he gazes up to the white lit ring.
Ghosts and rumors haunt this child
His only reprieve the song of the moon.
He rests safely under its wing,
Living his dreams in shadowed purple.
Sureness mounts ever in the purple
Haze of night, when strangers sleep.
Seemingly year after year, out spout wings,
As he dances, swaggers, in midnight’s ring,
Learning the luring song of the moon,
Creatures run wild, and no sleeping child.
Until one day, he’s no longer a child
And all he lives is the world of purple.
Child to the seductive moon,
He knows not the world of sleep.
Yet on he dances in his endless ring
Flapping forever with his useless wings.
Then, he shouts, these are my wings!
I no longer hide in the dreams of a child!
So he dances his dance, in his last wrung ring.
And preying on his dark world, purple
With quiet, lonely with others’ sleep,
He glides from a lovely capture, His moon.
The song he learned from the moon
As he wakes, still sprites from his silver wing.
Heaviness on him weighs from sleep,
His body shrinks, fragile as a child.
Yet still in this world he craves purple,
And the song in his ears still rings.
Now, as he looks at the moon, its song yet again does ring,
And he wakes from day to purple, and stretches his molting wings,
With the mind of a man and whimsy of a child, he vows the world his for as long as they, and not he, sleep.