#waning
Black rose trapped in a cage of white pages...
Like the white waning moon marooned in a black winter sky!
Aug 6, 2020
Aug 6, 2020 at 3:47 PM UTC
Your crescent moon shape
fits so seamless around me
Nighttime falls and I seek
the boney knuckle wrapped
around my chest
In the silvery cityscape, silence
permeates and I basque in
your peace and sleep talk
Your power over me in passivity
absorbed in the perceived
desire you have for me
Dark, starry nights, early mornings
in which your body, once pressed
with such urgency against mine
became lost in the sensation of
a nervous, covetous warmth
There no longer exists this
sensation, as persistent waning
sent once thunderous waves
into soft rippling and retreat.
Oct 11, 2019
Oct 11, 2019 at 12:43 PM UTC
*Sit there and watch
the power of the moon
feel how you are moved
by Her
your blood at her mercy
Watch the tides and learn
to surface when it is safe
enough to breathe
wax with Her
and wane with Her
learn to swim with the
mutable tides
of your existence
navigate these hours
by Her
then see the bounty
of the moon spill into your life*
Dec 26, 2017
Dec 26, 2017 at 9:09 AM UTC
Opulence is a whisper
In a forest full
Of clouds
Subtlety is a shout
In this city
Of waning light
Feb 26, 2017
Feb 26, 2017 at 10:18 AM UTC
Stars are out
A few too many for a one track mind
To count
The scenery is like a matte painting
Where the artist
Simply forgot to finish
This December moon
Hangs a bit lower in the sky
Than I remember
Your hands feel icy
But if I turned my head
Your gaze would be colder still
My desires are self-evident
While yours flutter
And flitter in the winter breeze
There are no shooting stars left
They've all been shot down
Leaving dust to fall around us
Our lips used to crash
Along this horizon line
Saturated by a fountain of youth
But this phase has ended
We are waning like the moon
Waiting to be made new again
Sep 12, 2016
Sep 12, 2016 at 11:09 AM UTC
It aches me to see
How memories can fade
Like smeared pages of a book
Yellowed and crumbling
Like the falling leaves of autumn
It aches me to see
How misty the images are
Like freshly printed polaroids
Preserve but then forgotten
Like old baby albums
It aches me to realize
Though how hard we try
Memories just wane
Even the most precious
Even those we treasure the most
Nov 29, 2015
Nov 29, 2015 at 12:25 AM UTC
going down this long lost road
traveling under the waning moon
thinking upon memories of old
I feel my impending doom
we are pilgrims in the age of fire
we are gods.. truth we aspire
voyaging deserted corridors
painted in cast iron blood
a great spectacle of gore
like nothing you could think of
elaborate scheme between hunter and pray
scrambling the mind and left in disarray
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 4:33 AM UTC
A quarter to one at 3 in the night
could ideally be fun, not without warning.
Sitting alone in a room full of one
waiting for clues that glue the hour,
Fluidly spacy in the psychedelic lull
of drifting silence just half past none.
One and three quarters align
magically, weeks have just gone by.
Poetry is depressing to some.
Cheer up now, the waning comes.
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 5:20 AM UTC