"destined" poems
I want you to know
one thing.
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine
415.6k
Sometimes your heart needs to be broken
So you can see what's underneath,
To the flicker and flame of your soul
That you've always been destined to meet.
Sometimes your spirit shines brighter
Through the glimmering light of your tears,
And when you arrive at the end of it all
Love will outshine the darkest of years
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 8:08 PM UTC
You may see me struggle
but you won't see me fall.
Regardless if I'm weak or not
I'm going to stand tall.
Everyone says life is easy
but truly living it is not.
Times get hard,
people struggle
and constantly get put on the spot.
I'm going to wear the biggest smile
even though I want to cry.
I'm going to fight to live
even though I'm destined to die.
And even though it's hard
and I may struggle through it all.
You may see me struggle...
but you will NEVER see me fall.
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 5:56 PM UTC
you were the sunshine
who loves the rain
and i was the rain
who loved you, my sunshine
but even if
opposites attract
we can never really meet
unless on a fateful event
when we're destined
to create a rainbow
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 10:54 AM UTC
Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer
was leading a lonely life working nights
at the fukfoorfiffenfimmer factory
where he was in charge of loading crates
full of fukfoorfiffenfimmers, onto cargo cars destined for the city of Cincinnati.
There was such a huge demand for fukfoorfiffenfimmers in the city of Cincinnati,
poor Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer worked his hunnyhush to the bone.
On one of his few holiday weekends,
Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer went to a hair salon for a trim.
Here he was attended by a hairdresser named, Henrietta Huckhellopolis.
Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer instantly fell for the husky-voiced hairdresser.
Gaining enough gumption and gallasisgoppingguff needed to bypass beating around the bush of courteous courtship,
Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer asked Henrietta Huckhellopolis if she wanted to leerlumpaloomp later that evening.
"I would love to leerlumpaloomp later this evening," she replied, batting her long lashes lustily.
And how those two leerlumpaloomped!
They leerlumpaloomped long through the night.
They leerlumpaloomped so loudly,
the neighbours ended up sticking stuffystoils
into their sensilivities, in hopes of drowning out the noise.
Nine months later,
the lovers were blessed with a litter of lullaloonillies—wot with the loud leerlumpaloomping and all.
But, of the seven lullaloonillies, four of them had two lumpalots instead of one.
Bolstering himself against drowning in despair at the prospect of having sired freak lullaloonillies,
Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer helped design fukfoorfiffenfimmers especially meant for lullaloonillies who have two lumpalots instead of one.
As the double-lumpalot fukfoorfiffenfimmers
were Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer's idea, the owner of the fukfoorfiffenfimmer factory gave Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer
a forty percent cut of the royalties.
*Fortunately some fairy tales come with a happy ending, because the city of Cincinnati was hit with a record number of lullaloonillies
born with two lumpalots instead of just the one.
The high sales of double-lumpalot fukfoorfiffenfimmers,
enabled Harry Heironymous Huffenhoffer and Henrietta Huckhellopolis
to quit their jobs and buy into the fukfoorfiffenfimmer factory.
Yes, after getting married,
Harry Heironymous and Henrietta Huckhellopolis-Huffenhoffer
lived happily hever hafter.
So did the lullaloonillies....
including those with two lumpalots instead of one.*
Sep 6, 2011
Sep 6, 2011 at 1:16 PM UTC
The river winds in from distant lands
With mercyless power it turns stone to sand
Through its mysterious life, the very earth it commands
And Yet the fearful river still runs through our hands.
In torrents of furry where the deepest currents flow
The rivers wild waters surge with woe. For
Onward, forever, its destined to go
A permenant home it won't ever know.
The river runs from each of us
As a refugee of fear,
It knows in a blink it will be somewhere else
Its waves are really its tears.
It runs from the audacity
Of the selfish human mind
As Its massive life capacity,
Of flora and fauna combined,
Are threatened by our antics and helpless to our crime
So the river runs on their behalf, from everyone, in time-
even within its whitecap foam
Water's yearning for a home
So roam does the water- endlessly,
till its long gone out of sight
The essential droplets of the river-
Nomads day and night.
Jun 26, 2018
Jun 26, 2018 at 11:55 AM UTC
A Red, Red Rose
by Robert Burns
translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch
Oh, my love is like a red, red rose
that's newly sprung in June
and my love is like the melody
that's sweetly played in tune.
And you're so fair, my lovely lass,
and so deep in love am I,
that I will love you still, my dear,
till all the seas run dry.
Till all the seas run dry, my dear,
and the rocks melt with the sun!
And I will love you still, my dear,
while the sands of life shall run.
And fare you well, my only love!
And fare you well, awhile!
And I will come again, my love,
though it were ten thousand miles!
Keywords/Tags: Robert Burns, red, rose, translation, modernization, update, interpretation, modern English, melody, tune, seas, dry, rocks, melt, sun, ten thousand miles
Original Scots Dialect Poem:
A Red, Red Rose
by Robert Burns
O my Luve is like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve is like the melody
That’s sweetly played in tune.
So fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry.
Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only luve!
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my luve,
Though it were ten thousand mile.
Hugh MacDiarmid wrote "The Watergaw" in a Scots dialect. I have translated the poem into modern English to make it easier to read and understand. A watergaw is a fragmentary rainbow.
The Watergaw
by Hugh MacDiarmid
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
One wet forenight in the sheep-shearing season
I saw the uncanniest thing—
a watergaw with its wavering light
shining beyond the wild downpour of rain ...
and I thought of the last wild look that you gave
when you knew you were destined for the grave.
There was no light in the skylark's nest
that night—no—nor any in mine;
but now often I've thought of that foolish light
and of these more foolish hearts of men ...
and I think that maybe at last I ken
what your look meant then.
Keywords/Tags: Scotland, Scot, Scottish, Scots dialect, night, nightfall, rain, grave, death, death of a friend, light, lights, watergaw, heart, heartache, broken heart, heart song
Apr 19, 2020
Apr 19, 2020 at 11:10 PM UTC
Glide your fingers down the railing
As you make your grand ingression
Meeting the faces you are destined to meet
As they fasten their first impressions
You are one to worry what they think
And wonder how or why
But, know that they have trained themselves
To create facades and alibis
They would be just as scared as you
If they were the ones walking down that stair
So hold your head up high, my dear
As if you did not care
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 9:12 AM UTC
The failed seduction
by drunken discussion
and skunk fueled
consumption, leads to
a compunction dysfunction
suspended in animation
the digital tides
of expulsion
catapult me into a
an eschewing propulsion
and the limitations
of re-imagination.
As far as I was aware
I was imprisoned
in nothing more
than the realms of
Skype and FourSquare
but for the Feng Shui
of trapped energies
and google-mapped memories
adorning the locations
of complacent hallucinations
amid the dark fibre
communications
with a female
of Nordic persuasion.
The compliments and comments
and poems I sent
were lost to the myriad
of random intent
I was attempting to be clever
and metaphysical
she on the other hand
was PHD level
and psychoanalytical
ergo my metrical composition
was utterly lost
in a conversation
on metaphorical reproduction
and the magic and mysteries
of osmosis
and the application
of modification
by transduction.
The moral of this tale
- if indeed there is one -
is if you are going to Skype
with a mentally superior type
do not before hand
have a blistering
smouldering
grass pipe
with a flagon of ale
lest you be a
gibbering earthling
destined to fail.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 10:59 PM UTC
Dearest Destined Jewel,
Of longest heartfelt yearning, Bestow on thee, Hamlet awaits, Ophelia picking flowers, Magnolia branches speaking, Beautifications of Spring.
Supreme buds of new life, Magnoliaceae of Queen bees, An enterprise of wonder, Symbolic child's enchanted play, Faeries in flight whisper attractions, Fondness, Les fleurs du mal.
Ample blossoms, Bosoms of delight, Devouring light, Little birds sing, Nestling, Chirping a languishing cacophony, Blissful unawareness, Nature nurture the soul.
A slip then fall, Nearby church bells distract, Into abyss fallen, Elevated body all at once, Floating amidst flora, Drowning, Petticoat woven dress, Resting on fresh valley water, Immersion, No contention, Hamlet awaits.
© Sia Jane
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 3:38 PM UTC
Guns and more guns need to be put down
Bullets should be replaced with education being the sound
It’s time to become a success
Yet it’s up to our young people to put that to the test
Their testimony surrounding confess
Everyone has capabilities to learn
However, one must adapt to theories forming concepts
Imagine having a college degree for all to see
Having confident being your own decree
The movement of action in making education what it should be
A mind is a terrible thing to waste
But the key is to make education your base
Former President Barack Obama had the right idea, “You Can”
But the new continued motto, “You shall Until”
A young man at a United ***** College Fund Raiser said this vital point, “Blacker the college Sweeter the education”
Education being the unity, but bring back to the community
Determination in step out and explore
Seeing one’s horizon but beyond the shore
A college education is an opportunity being a chance
Knowing the theories is how one will advance
Higher Education means being one step ahead
But the opposition wants minds to be misled
Prove to yourself what education can do for you
It’s a journey being a must to go through
Achievers such as Dr. Martin Luther King, Medgar Evers, Dr. Maya Angelou and scores of others
They instilled the passion in how to achieve, and determined education was what they were going to receive
They were ready no matter what
Fasten your educational seat belt as you will be taking off into Higher Learning Institutions in education beyond measure
Education is, but hold tight to the learning saddle
It might seem like a battle
But the end rewards is succeed
Slavery that was while be came destined for education now
One word leads to a complete sentence
One’s thoughts illustrates the understanding
Adaptability of the concepts gained
Long lasting knowledge is what will remain
UNCF philosophy, “A mind is a terrible thing to waste”
But the mind must be ready to spiral and absorb
But education and knowledge work all accord.
Mar 26, 2017
Mar 26, 2017 at 2:30 PM UTC
Along with matching bands of gold
and the blessings of their Lord,
Two hearts begin a journey,
their hearts, were destined to unfold.
And the blessings of their Lord,
will see them through hard times.
Their hearts were destined to unfold,
entwining as flowers on the vine.
Will see them through hard times,
the respect they afford each other.
Entwining as flowers on the vine,
teamwork will keep them together.
The respect they afford each other,
as the honeymoon grows cold,
teamwork will keep them together.
Their faith will see them through.
As the honeymoon grows cold,
two hearts begin a journey.
Their faith will see them through,
along with matching bands of gold.
Aug 23, 2010
Aug 23, 2010 at 4:43 PM UTC
I never felt like I belong here.
No matter how hard I tried, I never belonged.
Could it be I'm destined for something greater than life on this planet
Or am I doomed to spend eternity with the latter?
I wander across this land in search of who I am but it seems there is no answer no where in sight.
Am I suppose to quit this journey or continue to walk in denial?
How long must I endure this nightmare til I finally wake up and face "reality"?
At the night's commencement, memory of this life drifts away into the forgotten stream.
I can taste the answers but the moment I begin to relish in its delicacy, it fades from my grasp.
What is left for a king whose kingdom has fallen?
Jul 12, 2012
Jul 12, 2012 at 2:21 AM UTC
Feelings, the treasure of ones heart,
A flame, cast ablaze by the purity of righteousness, warm alike sunlight, yet not as burning or uncomfortably hot if exposed too long,
As embracing, as a motherly tugging hug, full of love and dearness,
It feels so gentle, like a soft breeze, sweetly touching the blossoming petals, after a soft rain pours water over their delicate, little bodies,
So warm, as if enlightment were close to reach beyond the border of consciousness, growing strong and happy, alike a peach tree,
Celestial is what it tastes like, sweeping over my transience in awe,
It is but an emotion, which would soften a stone hard heart and make it alike cotton and wonderfully sweet as candy from amongst heaven,
Inner peace, served on a golden plate behind a courtain of sunlight, describing the greatest pleasure,your drink and thankfulness for what you have, without greed, the desire to have more, despising violence,
And even though humans will keep on living, such whilst being in a wretched, poor state, destined to fight on and hope for the better,
Living, is what I find very beautiful.
~ Umi
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 6:07 PM UTC
I couldn’t be around you without feeling
as if my world was crashing down.
Twice I walked away but you kept
holding onto me.
Your love dominating,
controlling, and reckless.
For us both ‘WE’ became an addiction.
Our physical connection creating a real
emotional entanglement.
The intimacy escalated not with your love
and respect rather with your insatiable ******
desires and deceit.
You came closer to me than anyone ever had.
To say that we were totally engaged,
consumed with each other would gravely understate
what you did not only to my body, but also to my soul.
It was a crazy love.
When your presence met mine.
I’d forgotten the meaning of peace of mind.
Self-respect had flown away,
integrity fallen by the wayside.
I didn’t know who I was with you.
I didn’t know who I was without you.
Yet, I couldn’t leave…
Even though deep in my unconscious
I knew 'WE' were wrong.
My addiction wouldn’t let me go,
your addiction wouldn't let me go.
And I stayed…
Your behavior came so close to crushing my spirit,
my will to live.
In your compulsion to protect your deception
you abandoned me,
my life hanging on by a thread, I could not sleep or eat,
I could not breathe.
It was like being in a coma that I was fighting to survive.
With intensive professional help
I was forced out of the coma.
I survived.
Now I see
I stayed, not because I loved you
I stayed because I didn’t love me.
Passion kept me bound.
Truth be told, to be totally honest
I stayed out of fear, fear of missing the passion.
But now I know I’d rather be alone… than
shackled by the anguish and drama you swore was love.
As the synapses of my brain reconnect,
the evidence of controlling emotional abuse,
of possessive manipulation, overwhelms my mind and body.
I see now I wasn’t built, wasn’t ready to understand
your type of love.
I can’t deal, can’t bear, don’t deserve,
your emotional betrayal and abuse.
I have kept your secret for you to tell.
A secret I will never betray.
Now no longer together
locked in by your silence,
perpetuating the manipulation,
forever destined in your secret,
your abuse continues.
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 2:23 PM UTC
To my friends
who can write
fresh-smelling
bouquets of words
with splendid color,
I offer my envy.
Mine are the blunt, stunted words,
rooted in the cracks
in pavement,
or forcing their way
to light around
overbearing rocks.
Some useful
in their own way,
edible or flavorful,
some with a
pedestrian beauty,
but few that one
would bring home in a bunch
with a box of candy.
More appropriate
in a grimy, young fist
crumpled in love,
destined to be vased
in a water glass
by a doting mother,
or shredded petal by petal
for the sake of soothsaying...
he loves me, he loves me not.
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 1:21 PM UTC
on a sea strand,
have you watched empty shells
mercilessly tossed from sea to shore
and from shore to sea?
often I shrink and reduce to such a shell,
with jagged and broken edges
colorless and empty
among many a debris cast on the shore,
i lie half buried under the sand
waiting for some mighty wave
to wash me away
all the way to the sea
how tedious is my voyage
shuttling from him to her
and from her to him
unable to openly confess
who weighs more
on the balance of preference
through how many alleys and by ways
I have wandered, questioning my identity!
am I a puffer fish, being toxic
the fisher men have discarded?
a jarring note in a discordant symphony?
I wonder....! I often ask myself!
destined to grow
in mercurial climes,
planted in arid shallow soil
with the tap root trimmed,
branches pruned,
growth denied,
I, a stunted bonsai!
still I dream to be a towering tree,
that in profusion gives fruits and shade!
a ****** aspiring to be a Goliath
a hollow reed,
longing at once to be the singer and the song!
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 9:41 AM UTC
Onion,
luminous flask,
your beauty formed
petal by petal,
crystal scales expanded you
and in the secrecy of the dark earth
your belly grew round with dew.
Under the earth
the miracle
happened
and when your clumsy
green stem appeared,
and your leaves were born
like swords
in the garden,
the earth heaped up her power
showing your naked transparency,
and as the remote sea
in lifting the ******* of Aphrodite
duplicating the magnolia,
so did the earth
make you,
onion
clear as a planet
and destined
to shine,
constant constellation,
round rose of water,
upon
the table
of the poor.
You make us cry without hurting us.
I have praised everything that exists,
but to me, onion, you are
more beautiful than a bird
of dazzling feathers,
heavenly globe, platinum goblet,
unmoving dance
of the snowy anemone
and the fragrance of the earth lives
in your crystalline nature.
13.9k
There are grapes in my path
This abundant trail
now invisible as if we never were
Here, to pick and preen, salvage and reap
for pleasure and pain
I picked you some flowers,
I baked you a pie,
labors of love
with your own hands
connected to earth.
Breaking backs, and clinging sweat
Under wool, denim, straw, and cotton
Keeping more out than simply the sun
Depleted soil
Exhausted soul
Bursting with juice
Bountiful and hand chosen
And you in a hurry just drive by
Dust in the wind
Skin of clay mud
Day after day,
A boulder among the rows
Hunched in fields
Blistered and callused
Searching for more
Ripe for the picking
Migrants moving
Servitude by season
Benevolent harvest
Handpicked strawberries
By chocolate covered hands
destined from birth
closer to earth.
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 6:08 PM UTC
The stewardship of talent calls attention for everyone to discover their purpose on earth,
knowing we are created with potentials waiting to be maximized.
The stewardship of time calls attention for everyone to maximize their time on earth,
knowing we are mandated to dominate and subdue the earth.
Nothing is found except it is hidden,
every one has a talent.
Nothing is hidden except it is a secret,
every person has a gift.
Nothing is a secret except it is a treasure,
every individual has a potential.
Every one has a secret hidden treasure to be found,
ln them lives unique talents waiting to be discovered;
lf only they can discover their purpose on earth.
Every person has a destined mission to accomplish,
ln them lives voices waiting to be heard;
lf only they can activate their gifts.
Every individual has a solution to provide on earth,
ln them lives great potentials waiting to be maximized;
lf only they can exploit their potentials.
How then can talents be discovered knowing that any talent wasted will be accounted for.
How then can gifts be activated knowing that we are mandated by God to accomplish a purpose on earth.
How then can potentials be maximized knowing that we are created to impact our generation.
Let him that seek to discover and utilize his talents on earth consult God through prayers.
Let him that seek to activate his gifts exploit God's given innate ability to man.
Let him that seek to maximize his potentials on earth search the mind of God through the scriptures.
Is there any reward for discovering and exploiting your talents?
Is there any reward for activating your innate gifts?
Is there any reward for maximizing your God given potentials?
He that discovers and exploits his talents for God will receive the Masters reward.
He that activates his innate gifts will be remembered forever.
He that maximizes his potentials will leave an indelible footstep on earth.
Hope you strive to be persistent and consistent in the stewardship of talent,
knowing that much is required of you.
Endeavour to be faithful and obedient in your stewardship of talent, knowing we all owe God the accountability of our talents.
Ensure you exploit the discovery of your talents,
activate your innate gifts and maximize your potentials effectively.
Strive to discover your purpose on earth,
Seek to activate your talents and gifts; and
Strive to maximize your potentials.
He that discovers and exploits his talents on earth,
will leave an indelible footprint on the sands of time that will be remembered forever.
He that activates his gifts on earth will impact the world and his generation.
He that maximizes his potentials effectively,
will engrave his names in the sands of time and seasons of the sky.
Talent is a Mandate not a Delegate.
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 6:49 PM UTC
Stars sprinkle the inky night sky
Like crumbs of diamonds on a still, midnight ocean.
I am not afraid to be here, alone,
In the vastness of twilight.
For these few moments, time is as long
As the space between those stars,
And as empty, too.
The uncertainty that sunrise will follow.
As sure as the sun is destined to rise everyday,
When there's only darkness surrounding you,
Pierced slightly by the silvery glow of moonlight...
You're all alone and helpless.
You only have the vague hope that the sun will return.
And as I sit here now, star-gazer,
Faceless nomad on the damp grass;
I feel immortal, and I am afraid
That I will always be alone with the stars.
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 8:17 AM UTC
Your veins are a map
that I will always
want to explore
Close my eyes
and guide my fingertips
To a destined spot
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 5:04 PM UTC
I scream to drown the noise,
And fight to hold my poise
Against this sonic wave
That dismantles and destroys.
This place that I called home…
It’s all that’s left of what I own.
I fear I’m destined to the desert,
Or somewhere desolate to roam.
Tried to convince my brain this wasn’t real –
That lies are all I feel.
I’m not sure why I fear this noise;
There’s nothing left for it to steal.
- - -
Yet, I plug my ears and scream;
Tear the stitching from my seams . . .
I find it difficult to sleep,
And near-impossible to dream.
I scream so hard it makes me sweat,
And my skin begins to gleam
*This heat turns smiles into tears,
Like water into steam*
My head begins to ache.
My hands begin to shake.
If I chose the wrong path,
I made one hell of a mistake.
While my lungs still permit,
I’ll keep their volume set on high,
Lifting my head to the clouds,
To scream at the sky.
I have yet to hear an answer,
And while I’m not much of dancer
I learned some steps from Lady Luck
In hopes to cure me of this cancer.
- - -
Now, I don’t believe in luck –
But she still left me with something . . .
While we danced I took notice;
The noise dulled slightly to a humming.
I looked back to Lady Luck
– and I’m sure this wasn’t just a dream –
But she had vanished to the air,
Like water into steam.
I said “I don’t believe in luck.”
She still left me something, though.
She said:
*“You can’t predict the world –
I assume this much you know…
But if a farmer plants a seed,
In that spot, a plant will grow.”*
One day, my throat gave out.
For no longer, could I shout.
And I don’t believe in luck,
So I was simply left with doubt.
I cursed that lady’s words.
I told myself that she was crazy.
When something caught my eye…
There - at my feet - grew a daisy.
A daisy… In the desert…
So despite how bad my head hurt,
I thanked God for Lady Luck.
I thanked God that I had met her.
The noise I heard was her opposite.
It was the presence of chance.
I've learned the farmer can’t predict the world,
But, as surely as seeds grow into plants . . .
My only choices are my actions.
So, I think I’ll take today to dance.
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 9:34 PM UTC
I stand here;
outside my balcony
amidst darkness
in the company
of loneliness
My soul impertaburbly
trapped between forlornness
and peacefulness
Yin and Yang perhaps,
Forlorn because the soul,
wounded and damaged perniciously by loneliness..
And peace;
because the herb...
well the herb heals
to some extent
My vessel the arena
On a forbidden course
Yang battles Yin
the odds are in his favor
THC to Yin is like aconite to wolves;
And so he weakens with every hit
The melee ends
like it was destined to
tranquil and pure bliss prevail
At that moment;
the wind starts to sing her song
Calling, whistling to his lover
the king of the night
she whistles a beautiful song
that sounds of a gentle breeze
zephyr like pushing aside clouds that
guard his majesty;
grandiosely his image is revealed
in the nightlife
Observe they all gather under the nightsky;
selenophiles
far away from each other
all in different worlds
but it's this energy that coheres them here
together
The wind starts to sing
the song of halcyon,
ogling at the moon
in veneration and exhilaration
selenophiles danced away into the night.
Jun 28, 2019
Jun 28, 2019 at 7:39 AM UTC