Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
ZerotheshortswordPoems
I am old chinese fireworks Lit to fly and ready to burst Handcarved dragon maw to the moon Not a fire in a sky too low, too soon. Not falling flames for the world      To wonder,           And splendor,                Then routinely return To that smoke               stack              stacked                              for Mars.      "Man, we're gonna need that moon sometime soon"      "Yup, since we're already almost halfway there,"                  they                          say. Was the last I heard before                                            my fuse. Turned to fuel for a change of language      As I seek to speak With Lady Luna's gentle carriage We came to an agreement,                                                a little one sided, Cause she is always oh so terribly inviting, Now falling fragments for the world      To quake in its plates           And gush its wailing gale                Then her waters roil a riot Upon smouldering creatures That have got coal for eyes,       And gold for glasses, Blind.      To this Earthen texture of past masses Mastering textiles upon any form, or ghost,, of carcass,,, Although Gaia may bury and forget I must reveal Luna's barren                                                 parapet As a flame is all that I see Ways to show what a flame can be Earth learns to burn, for me, and we. Yet little, brittle, Mother Moon belongs to the sea.
0
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 5:58 PM UTC
When A Match Dreamt Of Tides
I am old chinese fireworks Lit to fly and ready to burst Handcarved dragon maw to the moon Not a fire in a sky too low, too soon. Not falling flames for the world      To wonder,           And splendor,                Then routinely return To that smoke               stack              stacked                              for Mars.      "Man, we're gonna need that moon sometime soon"      "Yup, since we're already almost halfway there,"                  they                          say. Was the last I heard before                                            my fuse. Turned to fuel for a change of language      As I seek to speak With Lady Luna's gentle carriage We came to an agreement,                                                a little one sided, Cause she is always oh so terribly inviting, Now falling fragments for the world      To quake in its plates           And gush its wailing gale                Then her waters roil a riot Upon smouldering creatures That have got coal for eyes,       And gold for glasses, Blind.      To this Earthen texture of past masses Mastering textiles upon any form, or ghost,, of carcass,,, Although Gaia may bury and forget I must reveal Luna's barren                                                 parapet As a flame is all that I see Ways to show what a flame can be Earth learns to burn, for me, and we. Yet little, brittle, Mother Moon belongs to the sea.
Written by
Zerotheshortsword
American
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 5:58 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem