Bad Moon

I saw my bad moon rising.
She had beautiful brown eyes and,
She led me into the night then,
She disappeared from sight amidst the shifting skies,
As the clouds collapsed and obscured her light.
I was left alone, far from home,
In the wonder of a dark field
With patient thunder roaming around me.

One forgets how alive the times of isolation can feel,
When the shadows twist and move about;
When the screams of daylight settle in for rest,
Fade away,
And leave us time to reflect.
In silence, or as quiet as it can be, surrounded by society.
In darkness, or as dark as it can be, save the intrusion of light pollution.
At peace, or as peaceful as I could be, sat beneath an old weathered tree.
It had the scar of a lightning strike, and I felt a wordless kinship with it.
It moaned and it croaked, bullied by the beauty of the nocturnal breeze,
But it never spoke a word to me.
It only wrapped its ancient limbs around me and begged me pause.
That suburban hum that comes at night became my lullaby,
My eyes threatened sleep.
I protested and the acquiesced for a moment, until my heartbeat slowed.
Such a heart, such eyes, and my silent soul all conspired against me,
And I descended into a deep sleep, into the delicate confines of a curious dream.

My God, how vibrant it was.
I was barefoot in a field of lamb’s ear and clovers,
With overgrown grass dancing in the distance.
Just me and that old, beat-up tree at the center of existence.
Where had the moon gone, still absent from the star speckled sky?
No answer, not even a whisper, as an adventurous tear fled from my eye.
Though, that little tear, it refused to fall to its conclusion.
It began to softly glow and float above a pretty patch of moss.
It playfully flew away, dancing in delicate twist and turns.
As I watched that luminescent drop of grief fluttering off into the distant glistening stars,
A profound sadness rushed from my body..
It felt as if a waterfall was pouring from my soul,
Only to become a great deluge upon the ground at my feet.

I felt weightless and anxious;
I could no longer hold it back.
As I watched the mysterious firefly, once born from my eye,
Moving further and further away,
My whole body made a concerted effort towards a single goal,
I wept so heavily that I collapsed on the ground.
Once again, I leaned my weight against that ancient tree.
My body shook in slow, heavy heaves.
I wanted to curl into a ball, compact and shrink, until there was nothing left of me.
As such, I remained, until my sorrow drained me so completely,
That I didn’t have the energy left to cry.
Only my shaken and labored breath remained,
As slow, desperate increments of peace began to return to me.
I felt empty, under such a deep stillness.
The hands of time seemed to freeze and press their infinite weight upon my soul.

This cruel stasis remained for a nameless span of time,
Until a gentle breeze reminded me I was alive.
I lifted my eyes and there she was;
My moon, my light, my folly.
She was melting and falling to the Earth.
All I heard was the roar of an ocean,
Standing tall above the surface of all I had ever known.
It was rushing towards me,
I was paralyzed as the behemoth crashed into me.
I awoke, suddenly, from my dream, still resting beneath that tree.

A storm had began to pour,
Lightning had began to soar through the skies.
I was still alone,
The moon was gone,
I was soaked to the bone,
Freezing chills charged through me, chattering my teeth,
And I ran into the empty darkness, hoping to find a home,
Knowing her light would never find me again.
Knowing that everything was as it should be.
The night will teach,
I will learn,
That my misery was well earned.

Lonely Patron

Forgive me if I struggle to forget
A happy memory, not distant yet.
Who’s traced so far the footsteps of your heart,
And wandered past where I might dream to start.
Send me to your lily speckled river,
Where your past lovers sip your apathy,
So I may be among sleepless beggars;
Cursed souls who know the lips that taste so sweet.
Send me to your frozen, starlit desert,
Where the carrion escapes the weather
And clings to the bones of its frigid home,
While frozen hearts drink deep its dying moans.
Though, please, spare me your petty victory,
Your bitter hunger for my jealousy,
Your shallow thirst for yet another’s words,
Who too shall fall, too soon, where mine fell first.
I know your malice is no less than pain,
Or the stings in my chest land less than rain,
I know your course, no less than loneliness,
Finds true, its mark, this heart that I detest.
Oh, you siren, your ballads of violence,
Sing it again, and again, til’ death gifts me silence
Sing it again, until blood finds its vibrance.
Sing, you pretty fool, sing to the islands.

An Explanation

I would picture blackness
where there might be life.
A simple,
sentimental attraction
to preconceived plight.

No garden bench serene
could convince me
of such peace.
A warm heart seems obscene
because of this disease.

Please,
Spare me your judgments,
I’ve already heard it all.
A life that is so loveless,
it seems no life at all!

This truth I know.
You must see that I agree.
It’s not the life I chose,
it seems to have
chosen me.

But, if you’re really listening,
let me speak one truth that’s missing.
Pretending makes existing
all the more
constricting.

So stay,
and hear the echoed sorrow.
One day,
perhaps even tomorrow,
I’ll be okay.

I’ll be okay.