My Moon.

That bright moon is the place where my dreams are;
Flowers and love and joy born of true desire;
A smile on each dream, travelling afar
To caress my heart’s squalid, human mire.

But those dreams! They always crumble to dust,
One calling the other a liar,
In time and fate’s consuming pyre,
Love killed by flowers and joy by futile lust.
And look!
Look!
O look, my moon is on fire!

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

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

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com 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 )

Google+ photo

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

Connecting to %s