At the awe inspiring moment when skies open to reveal
the precious purity bestowed in lines at night, the
memories of passion’s entertained scrawl in the minds
of little stars sparkling underneath a moonlight deep
in concentrated exhaltation.
To be young, to be won over by the majesty of eyes
prized from within their lingering soul, in the dash of
Autumn colours where fog and mist triples the density
of dreaming. A heart made of this fabric, silken wool
tethered onto the paintings of an artist’s daily capsualted
stardom. Beautiful in everything, rich in the likeness to
a darkened dancehall, globes streaming all night for the
wishes retained in the soft chorus of white dove singers.
Forever in the shadows of the eclipse, a moon so
effortless in its shining wonder. Gleaming down through
peering eyes, pierced and unforgiving. Half lost but
sparkling still as if to run protector to a shattered sky.
Taken from its core to galaxies revelled in an afternoon’s
foresaking. To a place unlike any other, unknown to its
fierce and folding caution.
A seldom moon, half soul-ed face, templates beneath
its torture, bright in its burning. A seldom moon, locked
into love with consumate arms folded in the peace of a
generation’s brave desires. Simplicity remarked for all
eternity to copy in its fullest light, a darkened rush
transfered into the hush of a next morning’s looming sight.