I speak not of the sun neither speak to her for the winter it has left in my care. My conversations with the cold snap and the polar vortex had gone stale.

The sun and I had our falling out and if these words should find their way to her doorstep, let her know I don’t miss her warmth. I don’t leap out of the bed to tug the curtain and let her silver light fill my room and let the motes dance in her rays like I used to.

I shudder at her supple shadow swirling, flowing and flitting about, and the halo she wears petrifies me. Her pestilential disposition burns through my walls fortified with years of heartaches. For these, we must part ways.

There is a constellation that knows you well, a piece of heaven that saw you take your first steps,
a clusters of stars that watched you fall asleep and hushed you when you dreaded the burst of darkness overhead.
They knew your story.
They sang your lullabies.
They fished out the moon out of the lake and washed off its impurities so you can hold soft light in your hands.
They braved the rabid bites of winter so they can fill your pockets with the sun.
They’ve always wanted you to sail North, away from the wasteland polluted with emptiness, upstream in a kayak, where the lakes sing your name.
Until like most stars, you dipped your toes in the pond and burnt out.
The stars they call you—reignite once again.

It's frantic but soothing,
Romantic but brooding,
The Whispers of the sky that whirl the clouds,
Whisp within the broken hearts,
Profound melancholy,
Our yearns,
The perpetually tragic night earns,
Thus the moon shys away,
Bribing the clouds to have it's say,
The clouds form the quit to free the moon from its guilt,
Hiding it away,
But I hope to see the moon as clear as sun,
Who knows it's worshipped,
Spilled into words of praise,
Whilst the moon sighs in envy,
Eluding jealousy a tale so refined,
Forged within sorrows it steals the light,
Wishing for the sun to set so it can have it's rise,

The storm that once
overtook my soul ceases,
a soft zephyr taking its place.

I gaze above as the Sun
reaches its zenith;
away from all the chaos
I yearn to leave behind.

All that could be heard now,
were the echoes of blazing thunder,
blurred into the faded hums
of a lullaby I once cherished.

The crow in the tree
    is actually
a black trash bag.

Squeaky bike brakes
      sound like chirping
September crickets.

The bug on the sidewalk
     casts a long shadow:
September sunshine.

I open the front door:
     a fly I didn't know
about flies out.

I will be your sun and your moon
For you, I’d light the way
I want to hold you in my arms
Softly, safe and sound.

But how could I embrace the sky,
So striking and expansive?
You’re everything, all that can be
You’re all there is to me.

Divine and purely celestial—
I can hardly comprehend!
But I need not understand the sea
Just let you heal and mend.

Shall the cries of the dead be heard?
When the world quites down,
Do the weeping winds coax their pain?
Seeping the ground for their comfort,
Will the rain find it's purpose then?
Will it be happy knowing it's not just a source of shallow joy for the living?
Will the clouds stop crying?
Out of pity for the dead,
once alive,
Does the sun apprise us of the regret of the day before or the one ahead,
Does it pity the ones it doesn't serve,
The ones dead

I’m just the moon, wandering through
You’re the sun, adding shine to the morning dew

You stack up your compliments every day and night
While others insult the moon and start to fight

Now we are next to each other, and people assume
That you’re the better option and ignore me in the room

You light up the day, and I only darken it
You stood up for me, but only told me to sit

Nobody could ever live without you
Without me, they’ll still be attracted to you like glue

I’m jealous of all the people you adore
But they see me as only an aching sore

Maybe one day we’ll make a solar eclipse
But now our relationship is only a wisp

Now you and your band begin to sing
While I’m only watching from the wing