The newborn moon
Beams down upon the autumn leaves.
An angelic apprehension, to witness.
Brittle air bleeds through my jacket.
A fire burns tonight
Breathing beneath the dehiscent sky
I close my ultramarine eyes, and breath in,
Starlight dances on my closed eyes,
I'm quite restless in my quest,
The task that I have set before myself,
The smell of the smoke tightens my nostrils
I wrap my arms around myself
And close my eyes for a peaceful moment
This beautiful vespertine stillness
Causes chill bumps to pepper my skin.
I place my back onto the cement
And watch the airborn embers be carried above
To the highest heavens, where angels await.
Granting the wishes the still burning bits bring.
I wish I were the ash, traveling through the eventide
Insignificant to the world below.
Disregarded by the innocent souls,
Who dream their dreams of life, and love,
This ash, this firebrand, of poems I've written you.
Darling, none of them were quite good enough,
They couldn't capture my affection,
My pen couldn't handle the strain.
No other poet's words could match my own.
Now as my stomach growls to me,
Yearning to be feed,
I wrestle my words,
Until their dissertational cage is realized.
I can't see you tonite,
Though I hope my kisses reach you,
My imaginary music plays in my mind,
I can almost see the notes
as I place another poem into the pile,
you cast a spell, sweetheart...
Lovespells are misery,
Or I've caught a virus,
Lovesick, I pray there's no cure,
I thrive on this kaleidoscopic, impelling conviction...
