POETRY: The Moon’s Lunacy1 min read

Too bold and too brazen, set sunlit clouds of envious hues
They form and dither without rec­ol­lect of heart’s healing
They cannot see what heav­i­ness lies on the moon’s shoul­ders
For the moon hides from the warmth it dreams in lumi­nous skies
and finds solace in dia­mond tears shining like dreadful gnats
The lovestruck lunatic would bat fran­ti­cally at the both­er­some reminders
Before finally accepting it’s obliv­ious ocean of emo­tions and heartaches
For what good is it to feel these flames of lustful woes and conun­drums?
Better to wallow in icy retreat until the night he can face his foes
A group of gath­ering wil­lows with nimble inten­tions and prickely fin­gers
Waiting to pluck the starstruck eyes out of light­headed lovers
and rest those pre­cious jewels at the feet of the cruel older sun
Whose whole pur­pose in the mighty expanse of exis­tence is to tor­ture
To hold ones fan­tasies and crystal hopes before one’s eye­less hallow
And melt them away with absurd glim­mers and out­ra­geous laughter
This is why The Moon some­times sits half the apple he used to reflect
The only true com­fort he can ever feel, the only one­ness to illu­mi­nate
Is when the thun­derous Sun is forced head­first into a sea of regret
and extin­guished as he passes from mar­malade to black­ened abyss
This is the one time the Moon will bellow with all it’s mad bright­ness
And yet this only can happen lightly in all of his dreary tran­scen­dence
For there they are, the dia­mond per­pe­tra­tors of sorrow and lost causes
whis­pering in his per­fect ear of what he can’t and will never have.
And his icy heart some­times breaks, and his own tears flutter down
And once more Winter is called on by the Moon’s cold sad­ness.

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1 Comment

  1. All the poems are unsur­pris­ingly depressing, cause that’s what THEY have done to us

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