Poems for Lunaby alafoelChaptersPoem for LunaPoem for LunaPoem for LunaPoem for LunaPoem for Lunasorry to everyone i hurt (Poem for Luna)Poem for Luna (empty bottles filled with love/empty wax suffers the same anhedonic fire it feeds)Poem for Luna (or Prelude)Poem for LunaPoem for Lunaand present form to shed at once in crystalline waltz d’eau sucrée, and to lose one thousand years of own, to drink back in one thousand more alone and then with All - All, really, All - to stare at shattered form of reminisce hung of glass, Stained with memory fear, the tiny foal that sits beneath, eyes rended up at beastly facsimile of something inside her, the foal, a body and barrel more set than any mare she knows but one: the two that had been, before they hadn’t, had then been again, stride aside, towering the tower, buttresses of hoof one end and body t’other, these impossible sides of one bit, to look in eyes and spoke no bad words alowd through those bloodless coughs of cotton, taut from tongue and pressed empty, yes, of the blood that had lined: that had lined: halls and halls of empty excess set to rot and billow, stone cracked tween hoof of sun and moon and beyond, then, the striking hammer of time and weather, this placid bound for eternal strife brought in through cyclical motions begging only to itself again, spirit not Thing nor Beast but spirit of nothing stood for in crystalline sapling’s hope of World and Righteousness, rotten Lacking to take and grab and hold - distended will pulled through glass mirror, rusted and feint of dirt smudges drawn round of only simple frowns that too had once consumed: her, the filly, soul inside - victim of yet to come - who had learned, just once, of Emotion and Power, that two are Same, that she is but Slave to Herself, who rose but Taller, pricked of rose in mouth and ear - filled, the same, with cotton - to beg only to be Seen, and seen she would be, seen inside her: prison of rock globbed in pitch ocean, laying between valley of Light and Dark, laying between Home and Away, between strops of land/ocean cohabited and tides of stars/stars/stars, Forever, but strung not herself through any Love, but Cold and Bitter - darkness more bred, of set in now Holes Between Stars to drink in the brain or soul that once gave in to itself, viewed afar from all below seeing but Stone and Soulless ‘til millennium took stand: released into the fear welled inside the heart, ‘fraid only but of Nothing - same that stood drank back in her - power delt from swift Hoof to dispense more, more Nothing, and six that watched and ambulated, born too of The Stuff (here, not rot, but what is left behind) and face the form of Fear and take Crystalline Soul and together weld and wield but the Period, to let Night and: Poem for LunaLet this moment stretch eternal, as eternity is granted back to you: As the drop of water in the ocean gives way to an impossible number of oceans more never sailed, yet to sail. Here with wings once more fluffed, horn tangled again in warmth, with a past two steps behind you. Carved into stone. How could it be? How could it be you? Wrangled maw of promise untrue: of Scream and Shout and fearful foals, little eyes yet wider open begging to meet with yours and tell you you're the same. Are you made of stone, I ask? The statue that stands behind you no longer moves it's legs just lets them hang in place and soak in rainwater stained. Rainwater too stains your own, but now your legs can move. The only thing left to do is live. Poem for Lunayou told me to give you space so I gave you all of it. Poem for LunaI lay, scrunched in our palace, tears running down not in overwhelm but absence. Of the perfect words flowing from taut maw, of singing lullaby to sleep. I was there once, when it was simple. The string hum harp of tongue and teeth of whispers in twitchy ear to console. There are many twitchy ears to console. Absence makes the Oh! Oh, but dash it! Screw it! Smash it against the wall! and in our palace, in the absence of dream, in the overwhelm of Salt and Fear of twitching hoof and twitchy ear… There are no whispers. And I have to go back on. Poem for Lunait's been some time since i saw your smile wrapped in front of my own. shine in your eyes and wetness too all have come to subside yet hang in place internal fiction hovering through minds of my own the stars, maybe were never real but still i can conjure them conjure at will hanging there and grinning slices of bitter sweet past gone by should i cry of hoof no longer slung and thumped with kind on back? or plug up proud that it ever once slung, in the first place that it could have been curse the past with the curses i used and shone so bright on yr. leaving washed reflections hiding but all beneath sun in sky and beaming pride that i could be filled with hate hope no longer is all i can wish but hope no longer that spites the ones i miss. sorry to everyone i hurt (Poem for Luna)Night crawls on through, moon in its wake stars lining up behind all present something so beautiful. A gift of nature once forgotten and lost many a time, years stared and forgotten thank-yous left in empty bowls. Apologies ripped and shredded, torn apart hoped and wished to be but never came all try to fire up and haunt my dreams. You wouldn't let them. What have I done to deserve you? That you can still bear to look at my face. What have I done to deserve you? I won't complain, of course. I love you. Poem for Luna (empty bottles filled with love/empty wax suffers the same anhedonic fire it feeds)avarice daints, formed from glow of moon lunar. waking nightmare. pricks point and bleeds, lets flow through the open cavity. river of blood. river of blood and the hooves that stand inside it. mane drenched and cold chest wide open and hoping, begs has someone got to- but empty little whispers of nothing words make pal and saunter inside. four chambers all now with whispered nothings. wings that stretch and hurt. some day soon will too be gone. it's funny: they can all see the hate and fear harrow that they conjure spit from spiked maw and mixed with blood but they can't tell the truth: it's empty. there's nothing left inside. Poem for Luna (or Prelude)I couldn’t believe that You were right there, right in front of Me. Legs scattered, sibilance protracted between hooves and shined floor. Staring now, in flesh, not my puppeteered strings nor my foreign rocks, staring, quivering mass, set there in moonlight like it belonged to you: beautiful and silken, soft with tears, impossibly kempt, audibly distressed living here as this gum of past and future, robbed wholly of Your present: You in front of Me. but through it all You had the the gall to look up to Me and apologise. Or maybe You just never had the choice. Poem for Lunawhat’s left to say? except I’m So Sorry and I Missed You So Much.
Poem for Lunaand present form to shed at once in crystalline waltz d’eau sucrée, and to lose one thousand years of own, to drink back in one thousand more alone and then with All - All, really, All - to stare at shattered form of reminisce hung of glass, Stained with memory fear, the tiny foal that sits beneath, eyes rended up at beastly facsimile of something inside her, the foal, a body and barrel more set than any mare she knows but one: the two that had been, before they hadn’t, had then been again, stride aside, towering the tower, buttresses of hoof one end and body t’other, these impossible sides of one bit, to look in eyes and spoke no bad words alowd through those bloodless coughs of cotton, taut from tongue and pressed empty, yes, of the blood that had lined: that had lined: halls and halls of empty excess set to rot and billow, stone cracked tween hoof of sun and moon and beyond, then, the striking hammer of time and weather, this placid bound for eternal strife brought in through cyclical motions begging only to itself again, spirit not Thing nor Beast but spirit of nothing stood for in crystalline sapling’s hope of World and Righteousness, rotten Lacking to take and grab and hold - distended will pulled through glass mirror, rusted and feint of dirt smudges drawn round of only simple frowns that too had once consumed: her, the filly, soul inside - victim of yet to come - who had learned, just once, of Emotion and Power, that two are Same, that she is but Slave to Herself, who rose but Taller, pricked of rose in mouth and ear - filled, the same, with cotton - to beg only to be Seen, and seen she would be, seen inside her: prison of rock globbed in pitch ocean, laying between valley of Light and Dark, laying between Home and Away, between strops of land/ocean cohabited and tides of stars/stars/stars, Forever, but strung not herself through any Love, but Cold and Bitter - darkness more bred, of set in now Holes Between Stars to drink in the brain or soul that once gave in to itself, viewed afar from all below seeing but Stone and Soulless ‘til millennium took stand: released into the fear welled inside the heart, ‘fraid only but of Nothing - same that stood drank back in her - power delt from swift Hoof to dispense more, more Nothing, and six that watched and ambulated, born too of The Stuff (here, not rot, but what is left behind) and face the form of Fear and take Crystalline Soul and together weld and wield but the Period, to let Night and:
Poem for LunaLet this moment stretch eternal, as eternity is granted back to you: As the drop of water in the ocean gives way to an impossible number of oceans more never sailed, yet to sail. Here with wings once more fluffed, horn tangled again in warmth, with a past two steps behind you. Carved into stone. How could it be? How could it be you? Wrangled maw of promise untrue: of Scream and Shout and fearful foals, little eyes yet wider open begging to meet with yours and tell you you're the same. Are you made of stone, I ask? The statue that stands behind you no longer moves it's legs just lets them hang in place and soak in rainwater stained. Rainwater too stains your own, but now your legs can move. The only thing left to do is live.
Poem for LunaI lay, scrunched in our palace, tears running down not in overwhelm but absence. Of the perfect words flowing from taut maw, of singing lullaby to sleep. I was there once, when it was simple. The string hum harp of tongue and teeth of whispers in twitchy ear to console. There are many twitchy ears to console. Absence makes the Oh! Oh, but dash it! Screw it! Smash it against the wall! and in our palace, in the absence of dream, in the overwhelm of Salt and Fear of twitching hoof and twitchy ear… There are no whispers. And I have to go back on.
Poem for Lunait's been some time since i saw your smile wrapped in front of my own. shine in your eyes and wetness too all have come to subside yet hang in place internal fiction hovering through minds of my own the stars, maybe were never real but still i can conjure them conjure at will hanging there and grinning slices of bitter sweet past gone by should i cry of hoof no longer slung and thumped with kind on back? or plug up proud that it ever once slung, in the first place that it could have been curse the past with the curses i used and shone so bright on yr. leaving washed reflections hiding but all beneath sun in sky and beaming pride that i could be filled with hate hope no longer is all i can wish but hope no longer that spites the ones i miss.
sorry to everyone i hurt (Poem for Luna)Night crawls on through, moon in its wake stars lining up behind all present something so beautiful. A gift of nature once forgotten and lost many a time, years stared and forgotten thank-yous left in empty bowls. Apologies ripped and shredded, torn apart hoped and wished to be but never came all try to fire up and haunt my dreams. You wouldn't let them. What have I done to deserve you? That you can still bear to look at my face. What have I done to deserve you? I won't complain, of course. I love you.
Poem for Luna (empty bottles filled with love/empty wax suffers the same anhedonic fire it feeds)avarice daints, formed from glow of moon lunar. waking nightmare. pricks point and bleeds, lets flow through the open cavity. river of blood. river of blood and the hooves that stand inside it. mane drenched and cold chest wide open and hoping, begs has someone got to- but empty little whispers of nothing words make pal and saunter inside. four chambers all now with whispered nothings. wings that stretch and hurt. some day soon will too be gone. it's funny: they can all see the hate and fear harrow that they conjure spit from spiked maw and mixed with blood but they can't tell the truth: it's empty. there's nothing left inside.
Poem for Luna (or Prelude)I couldn’t believe that You were right there, right in front of Me. Legs scattered, sibilance protracted between hooves and shined floor. Staring now, in flesh, not my puppeteered strings nor my foreign rocks, staring, quivering mass, set there in moonlight like it belonged to you: beautiful and silken, soft with tears, impossibly kempt, audibly distressed living here as this gum of past and future, robbed wholly of Your present: You in front of Me. but through it all You had the the gall to look up to Me and apologise. Or maybe You just never had the choice.
