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Feb 2011 · 644
When The Moon Is Dead
Robert Kingsley Feb 2011
In the gloom of the night my weary soul lurked around searching for yours.
I walked across a black river beneath the dark sky.
Tortured souls coming to the surface screaming out for redemption.
Never an absolution.
But i could not find you.
I saw dark figures wandering on the other side.
I could not make out what they really resembled.
I heard night birds singing, echoing from the indistinct world surrounding me.
Still no certainty of your presence.
I had led myself astray.
I waited.
I sat by the river thinking to myself.
With the night birds singing their gloomy songs to me.
The lost souls splashing in the river before me.
I waited.
And i found myself sitting under an old oak tree.
The ancient soul of the forest.
Staring at me with such a curiousity.
Its branches moved restlessly as if feeling my own restlessness.
But i sat back still.
Waiting for the moon to come out.
Feb 2011 · 644
Young Lovers
Robert Kingsley Feb 2011
Young lovers died in the sun
Sorrow was how they had fun
From each other they had run
Only to return when it was all done

Young lovers cried in the dark
No songs to sing as they made tracks
Trees, rivers, all to redeem their weary souls.
That lurked like hopeless ghouls

— The End —