It  hurts  pretensions of deep inside
Trying to save soul for a body's sake
But a rejection is not an untrue poem
Nor a cold truth waiting to be laid bare.

A room or a stone is no atmosphere
For the reddest moon of twelve years
That will sit pretty at  a ladder's edge.

Water tank holds air in water of moon
The latter tossing about as china break
Splinters dancing about to the breeze.

Flowers flicker as moon's star servants
In the fragrance of its liquid soft light
Hurting love in the very flesh of  heart
The moon hurts and is hurt by clouds
But temporarily and this too shall pass.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s