It's how the moon injects colors into me,
into my old dying mind
Its blue, red, and green in my plasma
they sail and travel through my veins

Remarkable stars, they send my lost soul home
Home, that is my mortal frame,
home that is bound to earth
And so sound I laid
That I can finally get a grip

Sometimes the cloud comes too
Their cotton-like apparition
soft to the touch, overly-sensitive,
and inhumanly empathetic,
pouring down a rain
For it cried
So I don't have to cry alone

The night sky helps,
by wrapping me within its blanket of darkness,
lulling me to sleep to the song of the wolves,
blowing winds that rock the greens ever so gentle,
and therefore I know, when light has gone,
and the night has come,
I'm alive once more

I say thank you to the rain for watering my plants
this morning and I hear more people talking
to their gods than the day before,
a sign we’re afraid.

the tree keeps me dry as some insects drown
beside my feet (the small are seldom lucky)
everyone wants to come out a winner,
but there are only so many special seats.
sometimes a mother,
other times a border
how fair can water ever be?

converging clouds create
a celestial ceiling
a disappearing of the sun's rays
an ominous feeling of the revealing
of the truth:
the world's been packed
into an intergalactic burlap sack,
taken—
and we are not coming back
world-napped—
never to be awakened.
kiss us, but
the prince is not handsome,
we are alone, so
no one will pay our ransom.

A brink of clouded moonlight
amongst oranges and blood-kissed red tucked away between headstones
with stories longing to tell