Friday, September 24, 2010


So pretty the crescent moon
fading into dark.
Quiet of night
merges with memory
I can not face,
can not see.
Soul tired, beyond aching bones
beyond any place called home.
Not a child of misery,
no one to blame, none to profit.
Flying after dreams,
treetop to treetop
laughing at clouds
in their droll
picture play.
It takes a toll, years in.
Naysayers saying "We reject
you, not of the body."
Injecting powerful medications
to prove their point,
their divinity.
Blissfilled moments
carry me hither and yon
upon some apocalyptic
Far short of any paradise, I surrender.
Soul tired, yearning for the Moon.

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