White owls wail like they’ve heard this tale before,
like they know how it ends,
an endless screech as the sun sets,
but life is full of surprises,
so maybe those wailing warblers will sing a sweet song after all.
I am constricted under the cool glow of my magnificent moon,
she smiles down, as if I am her most treasured daughter,
and with every moment, I am unraveled,
finding freedom as the seconds slip by,
and she whispers warm wishes in my pierced, imperfect ear.
My madness has become a map.
I slink along the streets like a snake,
teddy bear in hand,
wild words between my luscious lips.
The night’s sky is shining and there is a bright light in my eyeline,
for once, I know exactly where I’m going.
Rainbows rise beneath my shoes,
and I don’t sing the blues anymore, my baby blue,
because you are clear within my sights,
and the white owls are jamming to some sweet jazz.
sparkling in the sun,
if I look close enough,
and demons drool,
jealous and dripping in desire,
reaching out but never quite connecting.
Planting poppies under the waxing moon,
I read my wish list to the stars,
hoping God stayed up late to hear from his favourite girl.
I’m just a dreamer,
longing for long, late night phone calls,
where I feel the Earth stop,
then watch the sun rise,
in a blink of my hastily made up eyes.
I’m just an angel on the ground,
regaining her power,
but unsure if that will be enough,
to find and fix the shards of her sunshine soul.
I want to sleep in the dirt,
while my garden grows around me,
watching each wish, ticked off the list,
as the moon expands and disappears,
and then expands and disappears.
The new moon brings me to the sun. I am staring into heaven for the sake of the my sanity. The new moon said that she was in love with me before I gave up on myself, but that she’d find a way to love what I’d become, and I smiled, sighing at her kindness, the softness of her shining light makes me shy.