disintegration

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

journey.

Far short of any paradise, I surrender.

Soul tired, yearning for the Moon.