She sat in the sky,
Keeping warm in the glow of the moon.
Surrounded by only black.
And yet in her eyes,
The reflection of a thousand stars.

She wondered why some things were so romantically alluring.
The blanket of darkness we call night,
The burning glow of a candle,
The orange radiance of a full moon in the sky.

It's in the mystery of the night,
The call of a midnight wind,
The silence of a world asleep.

It's on the moon where she feels free.

I just can't see why.
She whispers her unhappiness to me before she falls asleep.
But you have a beautiful life, I say.
To which she replies,
Why do I feel this way?

And I can't give her a good reason.

She is mopey and moody,
Unpleasant most times.
And I cannot console her,
Or waken her smile.

But some days she leaves and doesn't return.

This silent shadow that's haunting me,
Is really no person but lives within me.

It called to her and echoed a thousand times within her head.
Like billowing sheets for sails,
And an oak living room table for the hull,
She moved with her imagination.

This vivid picture that roared like a thousand tides upon the shore.
Like crying tears of oil that stick and stain your face.
And bubbling thoughts and doubts that change you.
She moved whether she wanted to or not.

The voice you hear within is too soft spoken.
The fears you drown are much louder.
If only this small sailboat was a submarine.

Below the surface is where she sits.

It's in the dirt smudged into the lobby rug,
And hidden in cobwebs under the stairs.

It's drizzling down the side of tall buildings,
It's wafting towards us in the air.

It's in calloused hands and drying mouths,
It's in every grimace and every pout.

It's life.

You may not like it.
You may turn from it in disgust.
But it's in you.

The same specs of sunlight you crave,
Crawl in the night.

It's the stuff of life.
And it's in you.

Small little bumps rise with the hair,
on my skin.

With each soft breath,
with each cool breeze,
you leave me shivering.

Barely any light to see them there,
only moving skin and tangled hair.

But in the still of it all,
you give me goosebumps.

Hundreds of people in one single line.
I find myself at the end.
Standing on tippy toes to see above the crowd.
Some don't even know what they're waiting for.
Others know far too well.

This isn't my first time in line.
I see a sea of one hundred faces.
One becoming more blurry than the next.
But eventually, my turn will come.

And I can only order.
With no control at all,
over what you serve.

Evergreen needles stretch upwards.
Rays of the sun glide gracefully through the sky.
Pine cones are scattered throughout the forest floor.
My bare feet step carefully through.
My eyes searching the tall tips for clouds.

Maybe this is home.
Maybe wherever I am is home.