Peter (my bf) flew away early this morning,
like Shakespeare’s eagle, “leaving no tracks.”
Now I lie here, as a leftover or Millais’ drowned ‘Ophelia’.

That’s an image ripped from adolescent, female visual culture.

Time‘s adversarial magic drags us ever future-wise,
eroding sweet moments we would cling to.

Shall we poetize?

I want a quiet afternoon,
on the bright side of the moon.

It’s an actual-factual place,
convenient, in close outer space,
like mythical Elysium, Shangri-La or Valhalla
where I’d still be intertwined with my fella,
like characters from literature or legend.

A place where “I’ll get to it tomorrow,”
is, alas, an everlasting pass,
because on the dusty, unreeling moon,
tomorrow never arrives,
our lovers never have to go,
and we can relax, ******* clothed,
simply enjoying the everlasting earthrise.
.
.
Songs for this:
To The Moon by Meghan Trainor
Moon River by Frank Ocean

dust has collected in this once filled room of my mine

it's floated and settled on the last few things left behind

spellbind

windchime

now i can say this empty space is all mine


8 years of pacing this room

8 years of shouting at the moon

8 years of sleeping til noon

just to ignore the fact I meant nothing to you


so much anger has made home in my bones

the way you used to speak about me felt like being casted with stones

I used to try and drown out your tasteless, colorless tone

you type "she's dramatic" in a text on your phone


I expected this feeling of indifference to feel free with no stop lights

yet this empty space

and this empty mind

coincide

with what I've known this whole time


that all too familiar feeling of restlessness has come to an end

and even though there are still memories burned into my head

I don't believe I have anything else left unsaid


I envied your callousness

I despised your self-righteousness

and i ached at your lack of consequence

what caught your eye was never my elegance

but rather my callowness


as the ice in your drink swirls and melts

and you're blaming me besides everyone else

as your anger starts to swell

just remember it was me who wasn't treated well


we can keep our heads down while our eyes meet on the street

while you pretend I don't resemble meadowsweet

and that we never danced in my kitchen with me on your feet

but

to be honest

in the end

we were always offbeat

when you chose to secede

I found you to not be an aesthete

if you could agree

to be without me


this story is begging to no longer be told

so maybe I'll revisit this time of my life when I've seen how my life will unfold

til then my king is fallen on this chess board

my feelings are buried far past the sea's shore

and I've finally

stopped keeping score

We always look at the moon
admiring its light
holding hands with one another
wishing upon a star
that lies around the aura of the moon's brightness

we seem to seek out
only what makes us happier
instead of appreciating
the dark side
sprinkled with inverted light
we don't appreciate
the beautiful disaster
that showed us
how to grow
with the pain

and invited the moon into the
room – a stranger, she stole
through the night to our chambers,
a bevy of damsels to carry her candles.
She lit up our eyes; she lit up our skin
like our skin was the sky.

By Arcassin Burnham


Teenage love never last when you want it to,
Forsaken by its passion,whats in front of you,
be careful who you love,they'll treat you like a fool,
You'd love to here the sounds of a lake with
the moon over you.
***** love,this is all about you.
I don't know what I would do,
If I,Ever lost you,

Heart as hot as the fire dragon in your stories,
A captivating smile will only bathe in glory,
Purpose for your beauty is only exploiting,
Please don't let me go , I won't be annoying,
You Had me at hello , and man i was blushing.

Silenced as still waters, glowing in the light of nature.
So tender, so calm- the beauty you show.
Glistening the message that nature puts by,
You're the one unique home held up so high.

For you never care or you never mind,
As you fade off by the shades of time.
But it's you who really knows, the light of ultimate darkness.
Simply unique, simply bold- who can ever stand up as lonely as you?

The guarding guide for the one who walks alone,
For none can give a lesson as good as you.
Every arm stretches out to reach unto you,
But a very few out of the odd, deserve to touch you.
Someday my dream would be, to be a single light as big as you.
For you are the MOON- the man owned out of darkness.
And I would walk out to lighten darkness someday too.

--Silence

The moon shines bright overhead, gleaming and proud, the undisputed king of the night. But his reign comes to an end soon enough. Streaking colour shows its extravagant self meekly, under a band of presiding dark blue. The blue marches ever on, stately and cool in his mission. Where he is going I do not know, only that I can never follow quite as quickly. He gives way to dainty pink scars climbing the canvas, much in the way a mum gives way to a child growing in wisdom and in stature. The collection of onlookers isn't quite sure what comes next and hangs in celestial silence as the scene unfolds before them. Behind them, a quiet wonder turns the canvas from blue to purple. No one was more shocked than I to see violet light from the heavens in the face of a yellow ruler. The rebellious purple seems to realise his folly and quickly transformed into a pink of sorts, a much more agreeable shade for the occasion. I miss his first grin though, the unapologetic first hue, the dare to be new. From here it is slow going until it isn't anymore. I stare at the same striped world as handmaidens rush to awaken all who are needed for a sunrise. Even now I can see from where life will rise, such a golden carpet is already rolled out. It will be very long until he makes an appearance, but I shall wait. I will wait for him because he is my love, my heart, my one. I will stay all day and night to see him anew if he decided to stay away for a day.
My world is more sky than land, to which I am tied. Whether an act of mercy or pride, I see the sky every day from afar, always yearning to be drawn closer some day and find myself laying in the hands of the stars.
Finally the scuttling onlookers are rewarded with touches of heat and light and life from my love, and they seem to shrink away. Why would some run from him? What causes one to leave so enthusiastically when he has finally come? It's the jubilation time, what a time to be alive!
The moon hangs nearly where he started, dully marking the sky. Half proud and waning silently, he jealously slinks away, the only one who shines not at sunrise. No one sees him leave.