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Wednesday, January 11, 2012

My Moonlights


I've toddled along speechless purple nights,
and shaded hours where daylight dies.
Where the sun is bartered for artificial bright,
and tinted atmospheres improve in size.
Insects compose songs with a mating chorus,
and whispers tilt back with the winds.
Fleeing stars become horizontal drips before us,
and reflecting glows are a pupils best friend.
Who but you hold the pulchritude of a prancing night?
Who but you hold the answers to prayers?
Collections of your occurrence do formulate blithe.
While fancying twilighting flares.
These words are of a magnificent impression
of the evening and also of you.
Perpetually sculptured beneath a smiling crescent,
and boundless heavens that are a dozen shades blue.
Your totality is moonlight echoing against yawning waters
The same moonlight that reflects love from the sun.
Ironically, it exists fighting daybreak from slaughter.
Blessing the planet, you and the sun become one.