we adore her.
we worship the Moon
but we forget that
it is the Sun that
shines for her
and lets her
steal the show
every night.

-May Colde

checking my hopes
                      flying to the deepest galaxies
                                                           landing in poetry.


-May Colde

words
are a writer's brushstrokes.
and the library
is their museum.

-may colde

sometimes I still remember
                                 that night.
the night when everything seemed perfect.
        when I felt like the universe gathered us.
the night when the cold sea breeze was kissing
                                                             the stardust.
     when the Moon was calling her Sun
      and even the darkest streets were melted in          
                                                                ­            hope.
the night when we felt love like time:
                              endless and unstoppable.

-May Colde

everyone tries to
mimic the moon.
but honey,
open your eyes.
the stars are brighter
and alive.
and their light is endless
just like the human soul.

-May Colde