The Milky Way looks upon the field,
Millions of lights illuminating,
Each petal,
Each stem.
And as the sun sets,
The smell of fragrant herbs and summer skies grace the wind,
Painting the horizon.
Hues of purple run endlessly,
Roads to the boundary of heaven and earth,
Of soil and stars.
And as a lone bird sings,
The moon rises,
And washes the colors away in white.

The ghosts I live with,
Reside in the corners of my room,
And tell me stories,
When I press play.

My Euridice,
Sweet woman,
Who's tender soul could turn even the stone heart of death.
Your loving touch like magic,
As I drink that embrace like honey,
It transforms my sins into prayers.
And your melodious voice,
Like a lyre,
I listen to your songs obsessively,
Their rhythms are my heartbeat.
When that cold hand of Thanatos stole you,
Holding you to Elysium where you belong,
When your song stopped,
He took me too.

Your skin like a soft moonbeam
Radiating on my face,
As I drink that pale light,
Like a sweet wine.
Your eyes sharing stories,
Of love, of pain,
I look into them,
And fall.
Your lips,
Ruby-red, fire amongst that landscape
Of your face.
Oh to kiss you over and over!
Share your stories,
Look into your eyes,
Touch your skin,
And know I'm yours

You want to put this in this monolith,
This singular movement,
One person.
But you have not seen the power of individuality,
Of those with different experiences,
Different lives.
It's so easy to dismiss us as "The Climate Movement",
Not remember our names,
"The Greta of ...".
We have our stories,
We have our experiences,
Our hopes and fears.
Our unity should never be mistaken for some sort of conformity,
There is no conformity,
Only a common goal.
I own my stories,
I own my struggles,
I own my victories and losses.
Every single word spoken through a megaphone,
Or written in a petition,
Those are crafted from experiences,
From us seeing with our own eyes,
What the state of the planet is.
It is easy to break a promise to an invisible entity,
But not to millions of youth with their own voices.
It is easy to ignore the cry of one,
But impossible to ignore the roaring thunder of our stories.

I lie between two worlds,
A gap between dreams,
And the ways I turn them into reality.

Doth Zephyr's breath not blow through thy fair hair,
Golden strands cascading down thy alabaster back,
And whistle its sweet melodies through curtains of sunlight?
Doth Selene's gentle touch grace thy face,
As I did so many nights ago?
Do the nereids carry thy hallowed body,
Sea-spray clothing thee in the finest robes?
Doth thy soul still belong to me,
As you lay at the bottom of the ocean,
Wrapped in your finest dress,
Faithfully clinging to a barnacle-crusted mast,
Anticipating our wedding-day?