tall dark silent alleyways
only street lamps mark the way
i turn the corner
and am shocked and awed by a bright crescent moon
waning high in a sky of fine cotton wool clouds
a tiny lieutenant star attendant above its right shoulder
that same moon that shone brightly on eden and arcadia
beauty that knocks the wind out of me
then in a sudden pool of lamplight
a pathetic pile of scattered refuse
stinking disposable nappies
plastic paraphanalia
rotting leftovers
destined for a rancid landfill grave
or the inferno belly of a belching incinerator
such profanity before the gods bodes ill
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2 comments:
is it possible
that the moon can read the mind of the sun?
is it possible
a realist understands an idealist's colorful world?
is it possible
a toddler knows how brilliant
an artist's poems are?
is it possible
a line parallel to another
meet each other at one point?
is it possible
an optimist can know,
how struggling someone is,
Dear my
guitar pop fanatic
ale lover
architect
dreamcatcher
is it possible
when it's impossible?
Tomorrow
you've never been so anxious
about tomorrow
isn't it the very day
you've been waiting for?
what makes you so worry
about getting or losing
staying or leaving
feeling or ignoring
why didn't you just hide it
in your heart
as if there were never some waves
blowing by the wind
from some kinds of magics
yes, it must be a magic
it's out of my understanding
I just don't know why,
is it because of the twincling in your eyes?
or your chuckles? fun gestures?
or the goatee photo you attached here let everybody viewing?
or something else?
now can I look straight
at your eyes tomorrow?
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