even as you face the sky and
another night passes howling wintry cries
into the unmoving moon, stellar in its
star-clad skyring cross the horizon
do you stare into its luminescence
mind pining to comprehend the who what when
how why and - why not?
someone dreams of touching sky each night-
every circle embodies a challenge to the
souls unruly clambering through the night
dancing silver in the midnight winds and
seeking never to bend as the branches do
through trees they sail, unaware that
they have not tasted day for ages
letting light yearn for them they
watch the one rolled in himself who
yearns for gold under tears of stone
dripped by he who gave the trees their names;
this one sits low far from the moon and her
children throwing more and more dreams to the
quiet winds of dark reticence and he holds his
pen against the darkness as his last weapon,
bleeding blue ink and vanity as his heart bleeds
when he cannot keep rebellion inside himself
down from the skies and ruthless dancers who
force him forever to join.