No longer will I apologize
For the ragged edges of my Soul.

For I am
Wind. Fire. Earth. Water. Ether.
Elements which within I won't control.

Ravenous and beating wild,
Always enough;
My strong, yet tender heart.

For all these things
To be known as both
Moon and Sun

- For being Me -

I'm sorry aren't words
I'll whisper anymore.

©KSS 12/2017

The old man eats his TV dinners,
He's never learned to cook.
He believes it's a woman's job
But he never quite has the nerve to approach one.
Sure, there have been some
But far & in-between.
They don't stay long,
Bar the ones who have been there
Not to love but to take.
But he was smart enough
To cut them off
And not ache for a connection
Even if it wasn't genuine.
He has sense enough
Yet, not exactly a kind which is common.
For he finds it hard
To stand on ground equidistant.
But what is normal?

Is it such a thing as loneliness or love
Which more people take apart of?
In love there is loneliness,
Just as in loneliness there is love.
Whether it is from hearts together
Who can't stand each other,
Or from hearts seperate
Yet readily love one another.
Is it such a thing as loneliness in love
Or love in loneliness
Which more people find themselves in?
Of the equal strength it takes to stay
There is someone stronger in leaving,
Of the equal weakness it takes to wane
There is someone weaker in longing.
Yet, of the unrequited,
These are but fancy words
Which don't always flower to fruition.
And love can be won through persistence,
But to some it is akin to attrition.
The foundation of it loose & unstructured,
Rather than unbound & liberated.

Perchance, by the eye which beholds;
Some think it cowardly -
Some think it bold.
To go on loving, nonreciprocal.
To go on loving, unconditional.

no, i am not myself without bearing my fears
upon leaving my skin and bones bare
to blister in the open, poisonous air.

no, i am not myself without bearing my scars
with which i have been gradually burned with when people caressed my brittle bones and twisted spine

truly, i am without my flaws,
yet i admire their rawness and boldness; that i have started to wear these fears and scars
as if they are a **** warrior's armor.

truly, the love i have met is bitter;
and i find myself devoid of such desire

but can you love me despite loving all that i am and will never be?

in other words...

can you love me through the chaos that sometimes defines me?
can you wrap your warmth around my flawed edges and still love me?

all upon the knowledge that..

i will be wearing my armor;
my scars will be well dressed;
and if you attempt to burn me, I will show no fear.

-boonthemoonluv

My voice is not sick.
My heart does not lack charge
And my fingers rest beautifully.

My wires are impeccably engineered.
My brain is alight with knowing
And my belly, understanding.

Tell me, what does yours say?
Does it lie to you?

Our voices are not sick
Our words are not misguided.
We simply know you well,
And suffer for it.

Imma white strand
underneath that wide band
on your round land
under the heap among profound men
just someone unique, identified from a mile back
*** mild 'attack
seeing me took a step back
thinking me of a **** wack
who isn't like em
I've been cut
I've been dyed
I've died
yet resurfaced just like a lie
screaming at your face dare ******* deny.

True story used to cause me to remember,
Christmas coming to mean the story told,

I first got the story from a family Bible, yep.
We had one, and my mom must have read it,
because, when I was no older than six,
I asked her where the story of Christmas
came from, and she opened that Bible,
to the very story.

The Good News, surely was then, had been,
since. And now I think I may recall
that child like faith, in a seed
planted as true as can be,

the story came from the tellers of the story.

Why? Curios addiction, pineal primitive will
to know what works and what kills.

Men of letters, let us make up our minds,
in the realm of words, lust is not a factor.

Any vital juices spilt trigger art' official guilt,
mea culpa, my one 8.2 billionth
of all breathers, I caused hope to fail…
falsification
of this sapience capacity- projected
light where Plato had shade,

of course you may now remove earbeans
with no other one the wiser.

Don't be late
dip your toes fast.

It's up to you
if you want to do it
at the same time
when the day too
melts down into
one more pith dark
finishing line.

The twilight has a
lot to digest then
as one more day
cools off into it's bold
deep painting splash
make sure you go first.

Before the waxing moon
scurries to the sea
looking for it's mirror  
on the deep shady water
only to discover
zillions overlooking stars
are already there!

New day, with dawn of rising sun
off the docks, cruising towards horizon
light and breezy all, felt like blessed by Poseidon
Skinny dipping for happiness, hope I find some.

Many I got bon voyage, many I curses,
many were on board, many kraken lurks.
Head straight, high sail,
ignored all, focused on right trail.

Pleasant journey until now, premonitions around,
dark clouds, high tide, ensuing panic in crowd,
blinded became Travis, undermined the upcoming crisis
Darkness engulfed, realized too late, next moment...  

**** hit the fan down came the rain,
followed by storm and a huge hurricane.
Bulldozed through, but that's just iceberg's tip,
it's gonna be titanic soon, already feel like losing grip.

Beyond horizon, can't see,
calm sea or whirlpool will there be.
All I know, strength of these sails,
sailors and that mysterious gentle gale.