FAIL

Ugh.  I hate when I write vague poems.  What good are those?  I didn't set out to be vague . . . but it somehow spiraled away from me.


Fate

Write about the sun, she said,

worship at the altars

of the ancients.

Take communion with the dawn

of waking man,

find your bright equivalent.

I know Diana and Selene

are not enough

when the rays fight against my fingers

and stain red the darkness

even when I close my eyes.

But if I were to join forces with Sumer,

with Babylon—

If I were to build a tower—

I’m certain I would be struck down,

lie broken in the sun.

Aurora seems kinder—

but even then—

exhaustion—

Though sometimes I feel ancient

in my bones,

others I know I am too young,

the years stretching out before me

in an endless string of stars.

I miss you.

I miss you.

I miss you.

Luna, luna, luna. . . .

 

 

*     *     *

 

 

Also, in reading over old posts, I've realized how wildly unclear they are.  I seriously don't know what on earth I'm talking about in several places.